Graves, 


©r:  Gbe  iBiue  ant)  Gbe 
an^  otber  poems, 


HDoore 


oore_    r>or\nv 


Baltimore : 

Curbing  ^  Company, 

1902. 


COPYRIGHT    1902, 
BY    THOMAS    MOORE    KENNY. 


EDITION  LIMITED. 


Contents 

PAGE. 

DEDICATION,   ....                      .  .       7 

Two  GRAVES,  OR:  THE  BLUE  AND  THE  GRAY,       .  9 

THREE  SHIPS,  (WITH  NOTE)           .           .           •  .20 

COMRADESHIP,       ......  23 

LOVE'S  ENTREATY,    .           .           .           .           .  .27 

THE  SILENT  ARMY,        ...  .30 

PADDY  HINES'  BREECHES,  .           .           .           .  .33 

NON  SIBI,  SED  PATRIA,            ....  36 

WANTED,  A  MAN,     .           .           .           .           .  .41 

CHANCELLORSVILLE,        .....  44 

MY  SWEETHEART,     .           .           .           .           .  .47 

ARMED  IN  CONSCIENCE,            ....  49 

THE  ROYAL  BLUE,     .           .           .           .           .  .51 

ANTIETAM,            ...  53 

CHRIST,  THE  PATTERN,        .           .           .           .  .56 

THE  EDEN  OF  THE  HEART,      ....  59 

PASSING  of  THE  REGIMENT,         .           .          .  .60 

CHRISTMAS,  1861,  (WITH  NOTE)           ...  62 

Do  I  LOVE  THEE?     .           .           .           .           .  .65 

LIKE  SIRE,  LIKE  SON,  (WITH  NOTE)            .           .  66 

BOYS,  WE  SALUTE  You!      .           .           '           .  .68 

THE  LADY  AND  THE  LILY,       ....  71 

THE  FLAG  OF  MONTEREY,             .          .          .  .73 

LIVING  FOR  CHRIST,       .....  76 

To  MY  FIRST  LOVE,            .           .           .           .  .78 

THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY,  .....  79 

SOUND  THE  ADVANCE!         .           .           .           •  .81 

THE  OLD  CANTEEN,  (SONG)      ....  83 

THE  BATTLE  OF  LIFE,         .          .           .           .  .85 

OUR  FALLEN  COMRADES,           ....  87 

THE  BANG-ED  COB,  OR;  PEGASUS  UNWINGBD,  .      89 

THE  WANDERER'S  RETURN,     ....  91 

THE  LURAY  CAVES,  .           .           .           .           .  .94 

AMOR  TE  SALUTAT,  (SERIES  OF  3)                 .           .  97 

ADMIRAL  SCHLEY,  HERO  OF  SANTIAGO,             .  •      98 


PAGE. 

A  REMINISCENCE,                      .           .           .  100 

"THE  BALTIMORE,"  (SERIES)         ....  101 

NACIREMA,  TO  SCHLEY,  (ACROSTIC)     .           .           .  105 

OUR  HERO  GUEST,    ......  106 

A  PREDICTION  VERIFIED,       ....  108 

THE  "Muo  BATTLE,"  (WITH  NOTE)    .           .           .  109 
AN  IDYL  OF  GRAY  GABLES,            .           .           .           .111 

IN  MEMORIAM,  REV.  DR.  M.  D.  BABCOCK,   .           .  112 

SOWING  THE  SEED,  ......  114 

MEMORIAL  DAY,  ......  115 

TONIGHT,  (SONG)        ......  117 

No  THOROUGHFARE,       .....  118 

BOYS,  Go  SLOW!         .  .  .  .  .  .119 

EDGAR  ALLEN  POE,        .....  121 

THE  SHAM  BATTLE,              .....  123 

IN  MEMORIAM,  JOHN  I/.  THOMAS,       .           .           .  125 

How  SLEEP  THE  BRAVE,     .....  126 

MY  MARYLAND;  A  SONG  OF  TRIUMPH,  (POLITICAL)  128 

kovE  is  EVER  YOUNG,        .....  130 

CHRISTMAS,            ......  132 

TOT,  WHO  SUCKS  His  THUMB,  (SONG)     .           .           .  134 

THE  VETERAN'S  PLEDGE,  (SONG)        .           .          .  136 

GOODNESS  NEVER  DIES,       .....  137 

FORWARD!  COMRADES,    .....  138 

OUR  FIRST  BORN,      ......  140 

FIREMEN,  WELL  DONE!            ....  141 

THE  KIRK- YARD,       .  .  .  .  .  .144 

THE  BIVOUAC,      ......  146 

VIVE  LA  BOYS  IN  BLUE,  (SONG)     ....  147 

THE  MODERN  DAVID,  (POLITICAL)      .  .149 

BOYS  OF  'SIXTY-ONE,  (SONG)         .  .  .  .150 

A  THOUGHT,          ......  152 

OLD  DEFENDERS,  (ACROSTIC)         ....  153 

THE  WEDDING  BELL,     .....  154 

WELCOME  THE  "BOYS  IN  BLUE,"             .                     .  155 

SWEET  VIOLETS,             .....  156 

EVEN  UNTO  DEATH,            .....  157 

ON  THE  BATTLE  FIELD,            ....  158 

HAVE  FAITH!  .  .  .  .  .  .159 

I/ENvor,    .  160 


TWO  GRAVES, 
OR:  THE  BLUE  AND  THE  GRAY, 

AND 
OTHER  POEMS. 


De&tcatton. 

And  thou,  O  Menotomy* — 
Where  saw  I  first  the  light  of  day, 

What  shall  I  say  of  thee? 
Thy  hills  and  dales  the  Pilgrim  trod  ; 
Seemingly  forsaken,  still  trusted  they — God  ; 
Broke,  first,  the  shackles  would  them  bind, 
Then  freedom  preached,  for  all  of  humankind. 

No  honor  thine,  to  give  me  birth ; 
Among  thy  sons,  one  only,  of  lesser  worth, 

Creditor  art  thou,  and  I  thy  debtor ! 
Nor  shall  I  strive  the  debt  to  pay, 

Save  in  this  humble  way. 
Thrice  twenty  years,  Menotomy,  have  flown — 

Accounting  from  mine  natal  morn, 

And  thou  art  wondrous  grown. 
Yet,  ('tis  pleasant  so  to  dream) 

Still,  in  my  mind,  I  seem 

To  hear,  loud  and  clear, 
The  clarion  voice  of  Paul  Revere, 
(As  in  my  youth  methought  I  heard  it) 
As  thro'  thy  streets  he  galloped  on 

From  Chariest  own  to  Lexington. 
They  failed  him  not — thy  Minute  Men  ; 

Nor  yet  again,  in  'Sixty-one, 
The  war-drum  called  thy  sons  in  vain. 
'Of  this  world's  goods,  little  do  I  possess," 

And,  reckoning  with  Fame,  still  less  ; 


Yet  will  I  say,  richer  far  am  I 
Than  some  who  would  poor  me  decry, 

Remembering  I  my  heritage. 

Permeate  thy  air  with  liberty, 
This,  this  is  the  debt  I  owe,  Menotomy, 
That  thou  didst  plant,  deep  and  sure — 
In  my  young  heart,  with  every  breath  I  drew, 
Love  of  country !  strong,  and  to  endure. 

So  cradled,  when  Sumter  fell ; 
'Old  Glory  "—the  flag  of  Bunker  Hill, 
Trailed  in  the  dust ;  no  true  son  of  thine 
Menotomy,  could  idly  stand  ;  supine, 

While  others  nobly  wrought ; 
Neither  credit  I  myself,  but  thee — 
Who  wert  my  teacher,  loved  Menotomy, 

It  came  to  pass  that  I  should  bear 
In  that  dread  hour,  an  humble  share. 

And  should  it  be  of  mine  some  word 

Have  other  hearts  inspired — 
Covers  of  liberty ; 
The  inspiration's  thine!  not  mine; 

Of  thee  was  I  so  taught. 

*  *  *  * 

Beloved,  in  bidding  thee  farewell, 
I  do  not  say  "Remember  me," 
That  would  indeed  be  vanity ; 
I  only  ask — albeit  an  absent  one — 
That  I  may  say,  "Menotomy,  I  am  thy  son." 


"Indian  name  of  Arlington,  Mass.,  (formerly  West  Cambridge,) 


Graves, 

©c:  ftbe  36lue  an&  tbe 


NOTE  :  The  poem  is  supposed  to  tell  the  story  of  the  Civil 
War,  from  start  to  finish:  of  the  sacrifice  of  life  and  property; 
the  preservation  of  the  Union,  and  the  reunion  of  the  North 
and  South. 

Never  heer'd  'bout  thet  scout,  you  say, 

An'  how  I  come  to  settle  here'n  old  Verginny? 

L,e'see,  Jim,  haven't  seen  you  since  '64 

I  reck'n  ;  twenty  year,  or  more. 
Lot  o'  changes  since  then,  ol'  man, 
Some,  p'raps,  so  startlin',  one  can 

Hardly  'spect  such  things  could  be  ; 
Yet,  who's  to  question,  when  He  do  so  decree? 
One  o'  the  hap'nin's,  Jim,  was  that  scout, 

Or  what  come  of  it,  an'  no  doubt 
You'll  say  —  when  I  tell  the  'sequence, 
Strange  indeed,  th'  ways  o'  Providence. 

You  an'  I,  Jim,  was  boys  t'gether  — 
Down'n  ol'  Maine;  an',  I  take  it,  w'ether 
We  was  good  boys  or  bad,  no  matter  now, 
Be  it,  Jim?     All  we  wants  t'  know  is,  how 
An'  what  kind  o'  men  we  be,  you  an'  I, 
An'  when  we  does  a  thing,  t'  know  the  reason  why. 

But  'bout  that  scout. 

Y'r  know,  Jim,  when  Sheridan  started  out 
T'  jine  Grant,  way  down  below  thar, 
Some  o'  the  boys  was  left  to  take  care 
O'  ole  Mosby  ;  for,  as  we  use'  t'  say 
9 


Uwo  Graves. 

'"When  the  cats  away  the  mice  '11  play." 
More  like  a  flea?     Well,  I  guess  you're  right, 

One  minute  here,  an'  next  out  o'  sight, 
That  was  ol'  Mosby,  you  kin  bet. 
An'  here's  his  health,  Jim.     Will  you  wet? 

That's  right,  ol'  man.     No  ill  will  now, 
L,et  by-gones  be  by-gones,  an',  seein'  as  how 
He  blow'd  me  some  good,  (she  knows) 

I'll  gin  him  another — an'  here  goes! 

Well,  Jim,  as  I  was  sayin', 

After  Phil  was  off,  a  few  of  us  was  stay  in' 

'Bout  here  (sort  o'  grievin',  too, 
Playin'  home-guard,  an'  nuthin  much  t'  do, 
'Cept  watchin  them  g'rillers)  when  one  day 
In  come  a  scout,  ridin'  as  if — was  t'  pay. 

We  know'd  suthin  was  up,  an'  twant  long 
'Fore  "Boots  an'  Saddles"  blow'd  ;  clear  an'  strong. 
You  know'd  little  Harry,  Jim?  an'  his  horn? 

Jim,  he  lies  over  thar  ;   'mong  that  'ar  corn. 
We  laid  him  yonder,  Jim — she  and  I. 
He  was  a  good  boy,  wras  Harry,  an — 

I  say,  ol'  man,  don't  cry! 
L,e's  hope  as  how  he  hears  us,  up  yonder, 
Talkin'  'bout  him.     Is  he  an  angel  now,  I  wonder. 
If  he  be,  an'  I  reck'n  he  mus'  be,  Jim, 
Ol'  Gabrell  '11  have  to  hustle  to  beat  him. 
Well,  you  know'd  the  boys,  Jim,  an'  you  know 
Didn't  take  long  t'  git  in  line,  after  that  blow. 

We  was  layin'  over  yonder,  t'other  side  o'  peak 
(Ol'  L/oudon,  y'r  know)  an'  near  "Old  Union"  creek, 

10 


Graves, 


An',  from  what  the  scout  said,  soon  1'arned 
Ther'd  likely  be  a  scrimmage  ;  an'  I'll  be  durned 

If  we  wa'nt  glad.     An'  so  we  said  ; 
But,  Jim,  some  as  said  so,  are  now  dead. 

We  p'inted  this  way,  on   startin',  for  Snicker's  Gap, 
Throwin'  out  scouts — so's  to  git  in  no  trap — 

An',  movin'  quick,  got  thar  'bout  dark. 

Hear  her  movin'  in  thar,  Jim?     Hark! 
That  'ar  branch  rattlin'  gainst  the  glass? 

Right.     Well,  we  reached  the  pass 
'Bout  dusk,  an'  then  went  slow, 
As  we  know'd  them  g'rillers — if  they'd  a  show — 

Would  catch  us  nappin'  ;  an'  then 
They  know'd  the  country  better'n  our  men, 
An'  somehow  had  a  wayo'  bringin'  a  man  down 
'Fore  we  knew  thar  was  ary  one  aroun.' 

So — still  keepin'  a  sharp  lookout 
For  fear  they  might  be  somewhar'  about, 

We  come  humpin'  along  down  the  hill 
Till  pretty  well  o'  this  side,  an'  still 

We  saw  no  sign  o'  ary  Johnny  Reb  ; 
But,  bless  you,  Jim,  no  more  don't  that  fly, 

Bus' n  'bout  that  web. 
The  ol'  spider  was  thar,  Jim,  layin'  low 
An'  waitin'  for  his  fly,  like  that  one ;  jus'  so. 

Was  best  off,  too,  bein'  out  o'  sight, 
Spos'n  he  wanted  t'  run,  or  show  fight. 
But  our  Cap'n  was  no  fool ;  you  know  that,  Jim, 
So,ol'  "Mose"  might  set  hi  strap  an'  be  durned  to  him. 

Mighty  close  shave  tho' — for  some — 
11 


Graves. 


An'  no  knowin'  who'd  gone  t'  kingdom  come 
If  ther'd  been  a  leetle  less  light  up  thar  ; 
An'  ole  Sol  has  my  thankee  for  that,  I  sw'ar. 

Any  how,  the  "Johnnies"  kep'  pretty  shady, 

Seein'    twas  light,  an'  we  ready  ; 
Ay,  an'  willin'  too,  if  they'd  come  close  ; 

Ready,  Jim,  for  better  or  worse 

Should  be  a  sojer's  motto  ; 
We'll  all  agree  to  that,  fren'  or  foe. 

Spinnin'  too  long  a  yarn,  I  reck'n, 
But  with  you  here,  Jim,  mem'ries  quicken 

As  if  'twas  only  yesterday;   an'  we 

Again  in  the  saddle,  an'  gay  an'  free 
As  when  I  swung  that  blade ! 

An'  now — I'm  fifty-three. 

That's  not  old?     Well,  p'raps  not, 
Yet,  'long  o'  marchin',  wet  'n  dry,  cold  'n  hot, 
I  mus'  say  I  don't  feel  quite  so  frisky  now 

As  I  did  then ;  an'  Jim,  you  must  allow 
We're  both  git'n  along  on  ther  down  grade, 
Altho',  trust'n  in  the  Great  Cap'n,  no  more  afraid 

Than  when  we  followed  that  sojerin'  trade. 

Off  ther  track  again,  Jim,  with  that  yarn. 
Did  yer  notice — as  yer  come  by,  that  ol'  barn? 
Up  thar,  I  mean,  'long  side  that  clump  o'  bushes. 

Well,  we'd  reached  'bout  thar,  when  out  rushes 
Them  ar  "Johnnies" — pell-mell,  with  that  yell 
Or  'hoop  they  al'us  give,  puttin'  one  in  mind  o'— 

Or  pack  o'  Satan's  imps,  an'  then, 
Z-zip,  z-zip,  came  th'  bullets  'rnong  ourrnen. 

12 


©raves. 


We  didn't  run,  Jim,  you  bet ;  but  jus'  turned  in 

An'  give  'em  shot  for  shot ; 

An'  goin'  in  t'  win 
As  we  al'us  did — if  we  had  a  show. 
The  "boys"  could  fight,  Jim,  as  you  know. 

'Twas  nip'n  tuck  then,  for  awhile, 
But  fin'ly  they  scooted,  an'  for  mor'n  a  mile 

We  f oiler 'd — keep'n  up  a  runnin'  fight, 
Till  they  got  clean  off  an'  out  o'  sight. 
Fought  all  'long  by  here,  an',  when  we  come  back, 
Thar  lay  the  boys — both  sides,  all  'long  ther  track. 

Ljttle  brother  Harry,  as  I  said,  lies  over  thar, 

Was  one  as  fell,  an'  I  declar 
Jim,  ther  bo3Ts  was  sorry  for  him  as  ary  one  ; 
Such  a  manly  little  feller,  an'  full  o'  fun 

In  camp,  or  on  ther  march,  as  he  could  stick, 

An'  altho'  only  a  boy,  a  reg'lar  brick 
When  it  come  ter  fightin'  ;  an  I  vow — 
Say,  Jim,  did  yer  hear  her  movin',  jus'  now? 

Guess  I'll  talk  a  leetle  low,  Jim,  for  fear 
She  might  hear  what  we're  talkin'  'bout,  out  here. 
Whisper,  Jim.     'L,ongside  o'  Harry  thar,  an'  dead, 

Lay  one  o'  'tother  chaps  ;  shot  thro'  ther  head. 

Thar  we  foun'  her  too,  Jim,  kneelin' 
By  his  side,  an'  callin,  an'  weepin',  an'  callin' 
On  him  ter  answer  ;  t'  speak  to  her,  she  said, 

Only  for  once.     How  could  he,  Jim?  an'  he  dead. 

So  wetol'  her,  Jim,  but  'twant  no  use, 
She  still  kep'  callin',  til'  (a  sort  o'  ruse 
For  movin'  her}  we  said  we'd  bring  him  here  ; 

An  did  ;  an'  laid  him  yonder  thar. 

13 


Uwo  Graves. 


She  was  his  sister,  Jim,  it  'peared, 
An'  the  way  she  took  on,  we  ruther  feared 
She  mought  lose  her  mind  ;  go  mad,  y'r  know  ; 
An'  so  ol'  "Sawbones"  tol'  her,  but  'twant  no  go, 
As  she  'lowed  she'd  stay  thar,  an'  did  stay, 
Until  we  buried  him,  at  break  o'  day — 
An'  Harry  too,  down'n  ther  field  yonder. 
Are  they  comrades  now,  I  wonder? 

You  know  how  I  loved  that  boy,  Jim  ; 
Thar  was  only  two  of  us — me'n  him, 

After  father 'n  mother  died  ;  an'  then 

Come  th'  war  ;  th'  call  for  men. 
Harry  was  only  a  boy  then,  but  when  I  'listed 
Said  he'd  go,  too  ;   an'  altho'  at  first  I  'sisted 

He  ought  to  stay  home,  begged  so  hard 
I  fin'ly  give  in.     Was  that  right,  ol'  pard? 

Think  so?     Well,  so  did  I,  then, 
But,  Jim,  boys  is  boys,  an'  men — men  ; 
An',  some  how  or  other,  I  of'n  wonder 

Why  I  was  left,  an'  he — yonder! 

Fortun'  o'  war?     Yes,  so  they  say— 
Them  as  'scapes,  but  what  o'  the  dead,  pray? 
Fell'n  a  good  cause?     Ay,  so'd  the  "Rebs,"  too, 
'Cordin'  to  them  ;   an'  jus'  as  proud  to  wear 

The  Gray,  as  we  the  Blue. 
I  say  that,  Jim,  'cause  I  want  t'  feel 
I  bears  no  grudge  when  I  come  t'  kneel 

By  them  graves — hers  an'  mine — 
Where  flowers  bloom  an'  intertwine 
Just  th'  same,  Jim,  as  if  both  boys  fought 
For  what  we  b'leeve  was  just,  an'  right. 

14 


Graves. 


An'  so  I  left  him  here,  my  boy,  Harry. 
As  you  know,  Jim,  sojers  cannot  tarry 
When  duty  calls,  for  dead  or  livin', 
An'  even  then,  Jim,  she  wuz  so  forgivin' 

As  t'  promise  no  harm  should  come 
T'  Harry's  grave,  'till  I  could  take  him  home. 
Forgivin',  did  I  say?     Ay,  noble  we're  told,  are  those 
Who,  in  thar  own,  take  heed  o'  others  woes. 

I  thought  so  then,  Jim,  an'  think  so  now, 

An'  that,  Jim,  I  may  say,  is  how — 
Thinkin'  'bout  Harry  so  much,  thought  o'  her,  too, 

If  her's  was  Gray,  an'  mine  Blue  ; 
Till — well,  I  might  as  well  own  up,  Jim, 
I  come  t'  think  as  much  'bout  her,  as  him. 

Yes,  she  struck  me  a  heap,  as  you  says, 

Had  so  much  o'  sense,  an'  winnin'  ways, 
(Qualeties  bound  ter  'tract  'tention  from  a  man) 
That,  ther  more  thought  I,  "I'll  win  yer,  if  lean." 

Was  a  kind  o'  romance  'bout  it,  too, 
She  bein'  o'  th'  Gray,  an'  I  th'  Blue, 

An'  not  'zactly  romance,  but  ruther, 
(Seein'  'twas  thro'  us  she'd  lost  her  brother) 

A  sort  o'  'sponsibility,  y'r  know 
To  do  what  I  could  to  soften  that  blow. 

Not  many  as  thought  that,  y'er  say? 
Well,  thar  was  some  as  did,  an'  after  that  'fray 

I  knows  I  did,  for  one,  an'  Jim, 

As  each  on  us  has  ter  ans'er  ter  Him, 
When  conscience  'forms  me  what  is  right, 
I  do  it.  Thankee,  Jim,  I  know'd  you  would,  on  sight. 

15 


TTwo  Graves. 


When  ther  war  closed,  our  boys  marched  out 
As  they  marched  in — full  o'  hurray  an'  .shout. 

Not  all,  tho',  Jim,  for  some  was  thar 
As  tempered  vict'ry  with  tears,  an'  pray'r  ; 
Tears  for  th'  dead,  an'  pray'r  for  the  livin'  ; 

Pray'r  that  vict'ry  might  prove  a  blessin'. 

Moralizin'?     Well,  I  reck'n  yer  right, 

An'  I'll  try,  as  ther  boys  say,  t'  expedite. 
Yet,  Jim,  like  th'  prolog'  in  th'  play, 
Guess  I  better  tell  what  she  had  t'  say, 

As  that'll  serve  th'  better  to  explain 

Why,  bein'  here,  I  chose  to  remain. 
She  said,  Jim,  that  after  her  brother  was  gone, 
She  only  thought,  at  first,  t'  weep  an'  mourn 

For  her  lost  one,  until  at  last 
They  might  meet  again,  all  sorrow  past. 

Said  they'd  know'd  little  o'  the  world 

An'  cared  still  less  ; 

They  had  each  other,  an'  that  was  happiness. 
As  for  fortun',  she  said,  what  matter? 

L/ove  took  no  note  o'  riches,  'cept  t'  scatter 
At  ther  feet  o'  love  ;  nor  stopped  to  reason 
Much  o'  earth,  who  deemed  their  earth  a  heaven. 

So  they'd  lived,  till  war  come,  in  peace  ; 
An'  then  came  death  ;  an'  deep  distress. 
We  o'  the  North,  she  said,  when  the  war  closed, 
Was  welcomed  as  victors,  with  loud  applause. 

Home,  to  us,  meant  plenty,  peace,  'n  love, 
An'  people  tried  how  best  their  love  to  prove. 

Some  Northern  homes  desolate?     Yes,  I  know, 
But  here,  where  all  hearts  was  bleedin',  a  gen'ral  woe. 

16 


(Braves. 


The  rich  made  poor,  an'  poor  far  poorer  still, 
No  trumpets  rung  for  them,  an'  chill 
Indeed,  the  welcome  home 

Where  all  is  poverty,  an'  gloom. 

I  tol'  her,  when  I  come,  'twas  'count  o'  brother; 
That  it  made  no  dif'rence  to  me,  whether 
'Twas  here,  or  thar,  as  I  was  all  alone, 

No  folks  to  speak  on — no  home, 
An'  that,  Jim,  seemed  to  bring  us  close  together. 
Her  brother  lay  over  yonder,  so  did  mine, 
A  kindred  sympathy,  an'  so,  a  common  shrine. 

No  hate  e'er  bides  where  pity  lives, 
An'  love,  they  say,  "first  pities,  then  forgives." 

Seein'  she  was  in  need,  I  made  a  'scuse 
O'  remainin'  near  by,  by  most  any  sort  o'  ruse 

I  could  think  of ;  nor  did  she  dream 
That  such  a  'scuse  was  other  than  't  did  seem. 
Told   her,   Harry's   remains    couldn't   be  moved  til' 
spring  ; 

L,ack  o'  transportation  ;  most  anything 

So  'twould  serve  to  keep — 
Right  you  are,  Jim,  I  was  in  'bout  knee  deep. 

Lucky  for  her,  p'raps,  I  did  stay, 

Else  he  might  a  had  his  way, 

An' — who's  he,  did  yer  say? 
One  o'  them  chaps  we  read  'bout  in  books, 
As  thinks  all  a  woman  wants  is  money,  or  good  looks. 

Character?  L,or'  bless  you,  Jim,  had  none ; 
Thought  he  had  her  there — under  his  thumb. 
Had  a  mor'gage,  y'r  see,  on  this  'ere  place, 

17 


Graves. 


Thought  to  jine  her,  too,  in  his  embrace 

By  tellin'  her  he'd  have  her,  or  foreclose! 
That's  the  way  he  took,  Jim,  to  propose. 

What  could  she  do.     Slaves  was  all  away, 

An',  as  she  raised  nothin',  couldn't  pay. 

He  was  a  sojer  too,  so  they  say. 
I  doubts  it,  sojers  don't  act  that  way! 
I  was  stayin',  them  days,  tliar  by  the  woo;!, 
Use'  to  come  over,  too,  'bout  as  of  n  as  I  could— 

'Thout  '  tract 'n  too  much  notice, 
So,  thinkin'  something  was  up,  some  hocus  pokis, 

(She  'peared  so  onhappy  like,  an'  distressed) 

At  last  I  vent 'red  to  suggest 
As  I  could  be  o'  any  use,  I  was  ready. 

Told  her,  Jim,  'twas  on  account  o'  Harry. 

She  told  me,  then,  what  it  were  ; 
Why  that  'ar  chap  wanted  ter  marry  her, 
An',  Jim,  next  time  he  come  t'  make  a  move, 

He  foun'  he'd  caught  a  hawk, 

Whar  he  tho't  to  trap  a  dove. 
That's  'bout  the  whole  story,  Jim, 
For,  as  she  \vas  'greed,  I  soon  fixed  him, 

Mor'gage  an'  all  ;   an'  then — say,  Jim, 

When  we  buried  them  boys  yonder, 
Who'd  tho't  they  would  prove  love's  harb'nger? 
Yet  so  it  was,  an'  wife  an'  I,  kneelin'  thar, 

Seem  t'  feel  their  presence  near  ; 

Present,  Jim,  an'  hand  in  hand, 
Blessin'  us,  an'  our  dear  land. 

*  #  *  *  # 

is 


Graves. 


So  was  the  story  told — and  then — 
Methought  I  heard  a  whispered,  sweet  "Amen,' 

And  turning,  saw  'twas  she — 
She  of  whom  he'd  spoke  so  tenderly, 
And  by  her  side,  (within  a  haloed  ray) 
Two  boys,  one  dressed  in  Blue,  the  other  Gray. 
No  other  word  she  spoke,  nor  yet  did  they  ; 
But  with  a  loving  smile,  a  sweet  caress, 

So  sweet,  so  full  of  tenderness 
None  other  but  an  angel  might  possess, 
They  stood,  while  unseen  host  sang,  far  above 

"Whom  He  chasteneth,  He  doth  love." 


19 


Ubree  Sbips. 

NoTK :  The  Maryland  Colony  was  founded  at  St.  Marys,  in 
March,  1634;  the  destruction  of  the  tea  ship  Peggy  Stewart  took 
place  in  the  harbor  of  Annapolis  in  October,  1774.  In  the  poem 
(in  its  figurative  sense)  the  voyage  of  the  Ark  and  the  Dove  is 
illustrative  of  the  religious  trials  and  persecutions  through  which 
the  colonists  passed,  to  the  proclamation  of  Religious  Liberty, 
on  May  1,  1649:  the  voyage  of  the  Peggy  Stewart,  the  attempt 
on  the  part  of  Great  Britain  to  override  the  political  rights  of 
the  people — "spurning  the  wave"  of  the  colonists'  wrath  until 
buried  in  the  storm  so  aroused — and  the  attainment  of  Civil 
Liberty. 

Two  ships  sail  o'er  the  sea, 

Over  the  sea  and  bay, 

And  brave  the  men,  the  women  strong, 

Who  sing  of  peace  and  liberty. 

Brave  of  heart,  of  word  and  deed 

And  strong  of  faith,  a  creed 

Of  love  is  theirs, 

And  the  work  that  is  sought, 
And  the  work  that  is  wrought 
In  His  name  is  done, 
So  freely  gives  of  His  benison. 

From  Mary's  land  to  Mary's  land 
Over  the  sea  they  sail, 

With  straining  eyes  and  anxious  hearts 
For  the  realm  beyond  the  veil ; 

Over  the  sea,  over  the  sea 

The  good  ships  Ark  and  Dove, 

Their  "pillar  of  cloud"  their  trust  in  God, 

Their  "pillar  of  fire"  His  love, 
20 


Ubree  Sbfps. 


To  Him  their  prayer  holds  wind  and  wave 

In  the  hollow  of  His  hand, 
That  He  will  good  deliv'rance  make 

And  bring  them  safe  to  land. 
Over  the  sea,  over  the  sea 
While  the  Storm  King  rides  at  will ; 
While  the  troubled  waters  heed  His  word 

Who  bade  them  "Peace,  be  still!" 
On  and  on  o'er  the  ocean's  deep 
While  the  stars  change  one  by  one, 
And  thrice  the  night  orb  runs  her  course 

Ere  the  far  off  haven's  won  : 
The  hand  of  faith  upon  the  helm, 
The  star  of  hope  the  beacon  bright, 
On,  to  the  shore  whence  sprung  the  word 
Shed  far  abroad  a  glorious  light. 
And  the  work  was  sought 
And  the  work  was  wrought — 
Freedom  to  worship  God — 
Is  the   fairest  flower  that  ever  bloomed 
In  the  land  of  the  golden  rod. 

And  many  years  were  come  and  gone 
Since  those  ships  had  crossed  the  sea  ; 
Since  the  cry,  '%and,  ho!"  brought  tears  of  joy 

To  that  goodly  company  ; 
The  Ark  and  Dove  had  passed  away, 

But  not  forgot  were  they, 
When  another  ship  (of  gallant  air) 
Came  sailing  o'er  sea  and  bay. 


21 


TTbree  Sbips. 


And  cheeks  were  paled, 
And  faint  hearts  quailed 
In  the  realm  of  Terra  Mariae, 
For  the  work  she  sought 
(Thank  God!  ne'er  wrought) 
Presaged  of  tyranny. 

Over  the  sea,  over  the  sea 

With  the  southwind's  fitful  breath  ; 

Now,  bellying  full  in  the  freshened  breeze 

Her  white  wings  flecked  the  foam  beneath  ; 

While  the  storm  is  gath'ring  thick  and  fast, 

Now,  on  o'er  the  tempest  wave, 

Spurning  at  morn  the  embrace 

At  eve  is  her  last  resting  place. 

For  helm  and  sail  do  nought  avail 

In  the  storm  besets  her  path 

For  the  Storm  King  rides  is  a  People's  pride, 

And  the  storm  their  mighty  wrath. 
And  the  work  was  sought 
And  the  work  was  wrought — 
A  Nation's  liberty — shall  stand 
While  lives ,  by  birth  or  free  acclaim, 
A  son  of  Maryland. 


22 


Gomrafcesbip. 

Dedicated  to  the  Union  Veterans  of  Maryland. 

In  comradeship,  with  story,  jest  and  merry  song, 
Happily,  now,  the  hour  we  speed  along. 
In  comradeship,  just  as  of  old, 

When — assembled  round  the  camp-fire,  we  told 
Of  marches,  battles,  hopes,  and  fears, 
Mingled  our  laughter,  and  our  tears. 

In  life's  decline,  in  spirit  are  we  boys  once  more 
E'er  while  we  meet ;  gladdening — as  of  yore, 
Each  heart  despondent,  with  words  of  cheer. 

Boys?     They  called  us  "boys,"  around  this  board  are 

met ; 
"Boys  in  Blue ;"   are  any  would  forget? 

The  lines  are  deep,  across  the  furrowed  brow, 

And  locks  are  gray,  but  all  our  hearts,  I  trow 

No    older  grown  ;    so,   boys  we'll  ever  be   (in 
sobriquet) 

Till  the  last  "Boy  in  Blue"  has  passed  awray. 

Not  long  have  we  to  wait  for  "taps"  to  sound, 

Time,  and  Death ,  still  make  their ' '  Grand  Round; ' ' 

But,  until  death  come,  this  then  the  countersign 

(A  comrade's  pledge)  "To  Auld  Lang  Syne!" 
"With  charity  for  all,  malice  to  none," 
As  comrades,  and  comrades  only,  known, 

(To  rank  no  precedence,  for  rank's  sake  alone) 

We  meet,  to  honor  give,  praise  where  praise  is  due — 

A  soldier's  recompense,  to  all  who  wore  "the  Blue." 
With  kindly  thought  for  one-time  foe, 
23 


ComraOesbtp. 


Brothers  we,  full  of  the  tender  after-glow 

Born  of  comradeship  ;  of  hearts  endeared  ; 

Hearts  ever  faithful,  wherein  are  reared 
Altars  pure  as  of  virgin  gold  ;  nor  base  alloy 
The  brightness  mars,  and  death  alone,  destroy. 

Fraternity — true  comradeship,  the  base, 
Charity  the  die,  the  capstone — Loyalty,  in  place, 
At  such  an  alar  are  we  met  once  more, 

(A  remnant  to  the  host  has  gone  before) 
That  once  again  we  fealty  may  declare 
To  yon  loved  flag!   Old  Glory,  waving  there  ; 

Comrade  to  Comrade,  to  pledge  anew 

A  comrade's  friendship  ;  tried,  and  true. 
Friendship  ;   Comradeship.     Ah,  who  can  tell 
Of  the  courage  given,  the  responsive  thrill 

Awakes  his  soul  when  the  glint  of  steel 

Affrights  the  eye,  or  the  shriek  of  shell 

Sings  in  his  ear  a  requiem  wild — 
The  soldier  lad  from  home  beguiled  ; 
Beguiled,  mayhap,  by  dreams  of  fame, 
Who  ne'er  hath  breathed  the  battle's  flame  ; 

Who  hears  the  "z-zip"  of  the  rifle  ball, 

Beholds  his  comrades  round  him  fall  ; 
Whose  soul  grows  faint  with  the  sight  of  blood — 

Tinging  the  green  of  the  furrowed  sod  ; 
Whose  heart-strings  tug  within  his  breast 
E'en  while  he  leaps  o'er  the  bastion's  crest! 
"Conscience,"  'tis  said,  "makes  cowards  of  us  all." 
No  coward  he,  who  knows  that  he  may  fall, 
That  death  is  near  ;   yet  who,  for  honor  strikes  a  blow, 

And  fearing,  his  fear  doth  overthrow. 
24 


Comrafcesbip, 


In  this  doth  comradeship  bear  its  part ; 

A  touch  of  the  elbow,  heart  to  heart. 
"Tis  born,  with  the  glance  of  a  kindly  eye, 
Of  the  grasp  of  a  hand,  a  sympathizing  sigh. 

Born,  of  the  battle's  din  ;  of  dangers  dire  ; 

On  the  picket  line ;  round  the  bivouac  fire. 
Born,  but  not  to  die,  within  his  breast, 
Till  he  sinks  to  sleep,  in  his  final  rest. 
Distant  from  home,  from  all  of  home's  embrace, 
Who  filled  then  a  wife's?  a  mother's  place? 

Wounded  ;  dying  ;  with  fevered  lip, 

From  whose  canteen  the  refreshing  sip? 
Hungered,  trudging  thro'  mud,  or  blinding  dust, 
Whence  came  the  share  of  a  proffered  crust? 
Whose  was  the  helping  hand?  the  shoulders  broad 

Two  muskets  bore?  a  double  load. 
To  the  foeman's  arm  would  strike  him  down, 
Who  then  didst  interpose  his  own? 
And  when  came  death — last  scene  of  all, 

The  flag  so  loved  his  funeral  pall, 
Silently,  reverently  the  corse  they  bore, 
(Oft  shrouded  in  haste  for  the  far-off  shore) 

With  loving  hands  didst  turn  the  sod, 

Nor  yet  ashamed  of  tears  were  shed. 
No  surpliced  priest,  or  choir,  to  there  intone 
Some  service  grand  ;  nor  sculptured  stone 
To  mark  the  spot  whereon  he  fought,  and  fell. 
His  comrades  whispered,  "We  loved  him  well." 

Mayhap,  a  farewell  shot  was  heard, 
Or  bugle's  note,  or  song  of  woodland  bird 

Piping  his  song  to  the  Prince  of  Peace  ; 
25 


Gomrafcesbip. 


Telling,  perchance,  of  a  soul's  release. 
Such  was  the  burial.     Was  then  their  duty  done — 

His  comrades?     Or,  was  it  but  begun? 

Through  the  years  the  answer  comes, 
From  widowed  hearts,  and  orphaned  homes  ; 
From  cherished  memories,  e'en  now  aflame 

When  heard  some  well  beloved  name. 
The  duty  done?  'Tis  duty,  not  alone  to  grieve 
For  comrades  gone  before  ;  but,  so  to  live, 
That,  in  honoring  them,  the  world  may  recognize 

As  well  their  worth  ;  their  noble  sacrifice. 

Though  it  were  meet,  they  need  no  stone 

Whereon  to  tell  of  deeds  were  done  ; 
Whoe'er  so  died,  well  didst  perform  their  part, 
Their  epitaph,  graved  deep,  lives  in  a  Nation's  heart! 

I/ ENVOI. 

Comrades,  the  meridian  of  our  lives  is  past ; 
The  flood  has  turned,  the  ebb-tide  running  fast. 
Who,  among  all  gathered  here 
Shall  pledge  his  presence,  next  year? 
And  yet,  it  is  not  ours  to  mourn, 
We  who  (humbly  we  say  it)  have  borne, 
On  land  or  sea,  as  best  we  could,  some  part 
In  scenes  have  made  our  country  great ; 
Have  lived,  to  see  each  star  restored 
To  our  loved  flag  ;  at  home,  abroad, 
In  the  far-off  islands  of  the  sea 
To  see  it  gleam — emblem  of  liberty  ; 
A  sign  to  Man — whate'er  his  race,  or  clime, 
Of  freedom  guardant ;  of  peace,  the  oriflamme. 

26 


Xove's  jEntreatp. 

(From  the  Prose  of  Grace  Aguilar.) 

Through  the  vast  realms  of  formless  space 

Sounds  the  Omnific  Word, 
And  darkness,  chaos,  rent  in  twain, 

Reveal' d  the  work  of  God. 
He  spake.     Around  the  new-born  globe 

Angelic  hosts  do  throng  ; 
The  golden  harps  proclaim  His  praise 

In  one  triumphant  song. 
Hierarch  and  Seraph — radiant  winged — 

As  bursts  the  glorious  sight, 
Behold  the  world  from  Heaven  upheld 

By  chains  of  diamond  light, 
While  from  within  the  inmost  veil 

Where  none  might  dare  to  tread, 
Is  heard  again  th'  Eternal  Word — 

'Tis  Good!"  of  Him  who  made. 
"Let  us  make  Man!"     Again  He  spake 

And  lo  the  courts  throughout 
Celestial  myriads  in  song  their  joy 

And  adoration  shout. 
But  hush !     Prostrate  before  the  Throne 

Three  glorious  spirits  meet  : 
Justice — suppliant — Peace  and  Truth 

Bent  low,  a  boon  entreat. 
"Create  him  not !   I/ife  shadowed  o'er 

By  foul  deceit  shall  be!" 
27 


Stove's  Entreaty. 


So  speaketh  Truth — whose  crystal  spear 

Bids  trembling  falsehood  flee — 
While  Justice — cast  in  sterner  mold, 

With  hauberk,  helm  and  sword — 
"Create  him  not !   wouldst  arrogate 

The  Vengeance  of  his  Lord ! ' ' 
And  Peace — whose  meek  expressive  orbs 

Are  dimmed  in  prescient  thought — 
Beheld  his  name  outcast  of  Earth 

"Father,  create  him  not?" 
Thus  spake  "The  Favoured  Three"  and  then 

A  solemn  stillness  reigned  ; 
Th'  effulgent  piercing  thro'  the  veil 

Is  paled,  nor  glory  deigned, 
While  wond'ring  Hierarchs,  listening, 

Await  the  answering  Word 
Decrees  the  world  unknown  of  Man, 

Or  Man  his  Maker;   God. 
And  hope  seem'd  dead  ;   when  from  afar 

A  star  resplendent  grew 
Till  in  "The  Presence"  L,ove  appeared 

And  kindled  hope  anew. 
"All  hail!   All  hail!"  from  every  rank, 

In  confidence,  and  joy  ; 
The  love-lit  eyes  keep  pace  with  song, 

Nor  need  a  word  employ. 
Spirit  of  L,ove !  Thou  best  beloved 

Of  all  th'  angelic  host ! 
Thou  guardian  essence  of  the  whole, 

Speak  thou !  or  Man  is  lost ! 
He  nears  the  veil,  and  bending  low 
28 


%o\>e's  Entreaty. 


The  soft,  sweet  tone  is  heard 
Through  regions  of  unmeasured  space — 

"Create  him,  Father!   Lord! 
To  love  and  be  beloved  create, 

What  matter  if  he  err? 
Thy  love  is  greater  than  his  sin ! 

Thy  pardon,  greater  far!" 
Burst  thro'  the  veil  th'  assenting  sign, 

The  thousand  ranks  of  Heaven, 
While  myriad  voices  rend  the  air 

As  Man  to  Earth  is  given, 
And  Truth  and  Justice,  Peace  doth  join 

To  swell  the  thrilling  strain — 
Let  Man  be  made !  God  reigns  o'er  all ! 

Amen !  Amen !  Amen ! 

lialtinion;    Xor.    ^5,    1894. 


29 


Silent 

(Dedicated  to  Comrades  wh<5  fell  in  battle,  or  perished 
in  the  line  of  dut}'.) 

Along  the  Avenue  of  Fame — builded  to  honor  them- 
So  pure,  ornate,  and  yet,  so  simple  in  its  majesty 

That,  instinctively,  one  could  but  feel 
For  such  a  setting,  rare  must  the  jewel  be  ; 
While  yet  the  sun  was  high  o'erhead, 
Glinting  with  its  rays  the  burnished  steel  ; 
Erewhile  the  thousands  lined  the  way 
Whose  every  voice  rang  out  a  welcoming, 

I  saw  them  pass  ;  a  glorious  pageantry. 

Music  was  playing;  banners  were  flying, 
And  yet,  beside  their  faces,  seared  and  seamed  ; 
Beside  some  old  and  tattered  battle  flag, 

All  else  seemed  naught. 
Some  too,  were  scarred  ;  and  maimed. 
Not  all — however  hardly  did  they  try, 
Could  march  erect ;   and  some  an  empty  sleeve 

Did'st  wear;  aye,  proudly  wore, 
Nor  needed  else,  to  guerdon  their  bravery. 

Shoulder  to  shoulder  they  marched  ; 

Elbow  to  elbow — as  of  old, 
Those  ''Boys  in  Blue,"  hearts  of  gold, 
While  cheer  after  cheer — echoing  wide, 
Told  of  a  peoples  love  :  and  pride. 

30 


Ube  Silent  Hrm:o. 


Ah,  who,  to  see  them,  would  not  cheer? 

Remembering  all  ;   and  hold  them  dear? 
And  cheers  were  theirs — the  living,  'til, 
The  rear  guard  passed,  all  then  was  still. 

%         $z         %         %         %         •%         % 

Returning  thence — at  midnight  hour, 

And  musing  there,  methinks  I  dreamed. 
Peopling  the  court  of  honor,  with  silent  tread 
I  saw  them  move — the  Unforgotten  Dead. 
I  saw,  unheralded,  hero  comrades  march, 
And  turn,  and  wheel,  with  elbow  touch 

As  keen  and  conscious — to  the  spirit  eye — 
As  in  those  days,  along  another  way, 
They  side  by  side  pressed  on,  to  victory  : 
And  in  whose  breast  the  sword  of  Death — 
Their  duty  done,  found  ever-ready  sheath. 

Ghosts?  Aye,  spectres  they  : 
Some  in  rags,  with  tattered  flags 
Cherished,  and  followed,  in  many  a  fray. 

With  muffled  drum,  see  how  they  come! 
Armed  cap-a-pie,  with  musket,  and  saber, 
"Ghosts  of  the  Red -hand  from  over  the  border." 

Deathless  heroes.     Do  ye  seek  a  name? 
Mayhap  'tis  'scribed  on  the  roll  of  fame. 
Or  mayhap,  they  sleep  beneath  some  stone 
Whereon  is  graved — a  holy  legend,  "Unknown." 
Lost  in  the  maze  of  the  war — blasted  track, 
Some  are  "The  Boys  who  did  not  come  back." 

See !   how  they  go  charging  ; 

To  the  trumpet's  shrill  sounding, 


Silent  Hrm\?. 


The  deep-mouthed  guns  pounding  ; 

Up,  Up!   now,  away! 

Now,  .shattered,  and  broken,  spreading  dismay. 

Musketry  flashing  ;   sabers  slashing, 
Wielded  by  loyal  hands,  hearts  ever  true  ; 

Hark!   now,  the  shot  and  shell  ; 

Wide  opes  the  gates  of  hell — 

The  hell  of  war's  passion  : 
Seething  and  surging,  writhing  and  turning 
Until,  at  last,  the  "Old  Flag"  triumphant! 
Forgotten  the  cost,  then,  in  such  glorious  vision. 

Spectres  from  Spectreland.     Shadowy  phantoms 
Booted,  and  spurred,  and  riding  apace  ; 

Carbines  unslinging,  bugle  blasts  ringing  ; 

Musketeers  ;  cannoniers  ;  give  them  a  place. 
The  prison  pen  opens.     Thousands  on  thousands, 
Hollow-eyed,  famine  crazed.     God!   what  a  sight. 
Were  they  from  among  us — these  tatterdemalions  ? 
Can  these  be  our  boys,  went  forth  in  their  might? 

Soldiers?     Heroes?     These  in  rags? 

Glorified  rags !   and  hallowed  flags. 
Spectres  from  Deadland,  ghosts  of  the  red-hand, 
Ghosts  of  the  red-hand  from  over  the  border. 

Who  would  not  honor  them? 

Who  would  not  cheer  for  them  ? 

Who  dares  now  to  gibe  at  them  ? 
Passing  away  in  the  shades  of  the  night. 


32 


Tbines'  Breecbes. 

NOTK  :  A  fire  occurred  one  day  in  1876,  in  the  camp  of  a 
company  of  the  Eighteenth  U.  S.  Infantry,  stationed  at  Colum 
bia,  S.  C.  Private  nines'  blanket  and  a  pair  of  his  trousers 
were  burned  up,  and  a  Board  of  Survey,  finding  the  fire  was  an 
accident,  ordered  that  the  loss  should  be  made  good  to  him — a 
free  issue.  The  post  commander  approved  the  finding  of  the 
Board,  and  Pat  received  the  articles.  The  department  com 
mander  disapproved,  and  then  began  a  lengthy  controversy,  only 
ended  by  an  Act  of  Congress  relieving  the  Q.  M.  General  from 
the  charge  upon  his  department.  "  Siinset "  Cox,  in  offering 
the  Bill  in  the  House,  made  one  of  his  characteristic  humorous 
speeches.  The  proceedings  all  through  is  said  to  have  cost  the 
Government  about  $1 ,000. 

On  an  unlucky  day  in  the  year  'seventy-six, 
Privet  Hines  found  himself  in  an  iligant  fix  ; 
Minus  blanket  an'  breeches  by  the  fiery  iliment. 
"By  th'   pow'rs,"   says  Paddy,  ''I'll  charge  thim  to 

guv' mint." 

A  boord  of  sarvay  (at  someone's  suggestion) 
Convaned  on  the  scene  ov  poor  Pat's  disolation  ; 
Accordin'  to  order,  they  assimbled  and  ponder'd, 
Veni,  vidi  an'  vici,  they  kem,  saw,  an'  conquer'd. 
They  questioned  bowld  Hines,  an'  this  one  an'  that, 
Overhauled  rigulations  for  their  final  fiat ; 
Their  vardict — like  most  ov  thim  found  now-a-days, 
"Accidental,"  ov  coorse — where  nobody  pays. 

A  blanket  an'  breeches  for  Paddy  was  order'd, 
Nor  stopped  the}'  to  think  ov  Uncle  Sam  bother 'd  ; 
In  dollars  an'  cints  they  fix'd  up  the  totals, 
Sint  in  their  repoort,  an'  retired  on  their  laurels. 
33 


"femes'  Breecbes. 


They    wor   done   now  wid  Paddy,  but  alas    for  the 

breeches, 
Sittin'  Bull  an'  his  thribe,  wid  their  war  'hoops  an' 

scraches 

Niver  caused    such  a  fuss  ;  an'  the  trouble  they  gave 
Whin  they  sed,  "By  yer  lave 
We'll  giv  Paddy  Hines  a  blanket  an'  breeches, 
To  be  charged  not  at  all,  but  issued  free  gratis," 
Ne'er  entered  their  heads  ;  if  it  had  I  am  towld 
They'd  have  left  Privet  Hines  jist  out  in  the  cowld. 
Like  many  a  fight,  it  had  only  begun, 
Whin  thought  to  be  finished  an'  victhory  won. 
From  office  to  office,  from  pillar  to  post, 
The  mighty  small  dockimint  grew  to  a  host. 
From  Captin'  to  Gin'ral,  from  him  to  leftinent, 
Back  an'  forwards  it  flew  until  Paddy's  garmint — 
L/ike  Brian  O'lyinn's,  became  cilibrated  : 
So  oft  on  the  ear  ov  offichils  it  grated. 

How  much  paper  it  tuk,  whether  fools  cap  or  legal, 
I  roightly  dun'no,  but  'tis  sed  that  the  total, 
In  dollars  alone,  was  a  thousan'  one  hundre,' 
To  straiten  this  very  small  bit  ov  a  blunder  : 
The  postage  included  ovcoorse,  an'  expinse  inci- 

dintal, 

To  solve  such  a  problim.  it  could  not  be  mintal. 
From  the  Q.  M.  in  gin'ral  to  the  War  Secretary, 
The  subject  it  proved  to  be  moighty  conthrary  ; 
For  a  year  an'  a  half  they  wor  badgered  an'  bothered, 
'Til  finally  (appalin'  to  Congress)  'twas  ordered, 
That  the  gift  to  one  Hines  be  approved  an'  abated 
On  the  books  ov  his  country ;  at  prices  as  stated. 

34 


ibines'  Breecbes. 


So  the  great  controvarsy  was  finilly  ended, 

An'  the  right  ov  Pat's  title — rale  or  pretinded — 

Was  settled  at  last ;   an'  the  great  systemizers 

Won  glory  an'  honor  in  "The  Affair  of  the  Trousers." 


Ifton  Sibi,  Set*  patria. 

"Who  live  in  history,  walk  the  earth  again." — LONGFELLOW. 

"We  count  it  death  to  falter,  not  to  die." 
With  pen  aflame,  long  years  agone, 
So  didst  thou  tell  of  Marathon, 
Simonides,  of  L,euctra  and  Thermopylae, 

Where  Sparta's  heroes  lie. 
Nor  fitter  words  could  e'er  be  said 
O  Comrades,  of  thy  most  honored  dead, 

Krewhere  entombed ; 
Who,  faltering  not,  strove  not  in  vain 
The  stars  misguided  hand  had  torn 
From  out  the  Nation's  diadem  ; 
Who  fought,  and  fighting,  fell, 
And  then — their  duty  nobly  done, 
Didst  lay  them  down  to  rest, 
Content — their  sacrifice  was  blessed — 

Of  earth  to  win  no  other  crown. 

Comrade  whose  race  is  run, 

Who  gav'st  thy  life,  but  fame  immortal  won  ; 

Thou  who  for  self  no  honors  sought, 

But  for  thy  country  bravely  wrought, 

For  duty's  and  for  conscience'  sake  alone  ; 

Who,  living,  nor  thought  possessed  but  for  thy  fellows' 

meed, 

Dead,  be  it  ours  to  cherish  and  to  guard 
Remembrance  of  the  life  so  spent, 

36 


TRcn  Sibi,  ScD  jpatria. 


And  crown  its  ending  with  a  fit  reward. 

Buckled  thine  armor  bright, 
Thy  shield,  of  Faith!  thy  sword,  the  Right 
Of  courage  dauntless,  valor's  Might ; 

So  went  thou  forth,  full  panoplied, 
To  grave  thy  name  on  History's  page, 
And,  so  dying,  left  a  heritage 
More  pure  and  fair  bequeathed  thee, 
(Redeemed  the  curse  of  slavery) 
The  compact  sealing  with  thy  blood, 
This  land  for  liberty!   and  God. 

And  peace  doth  reign. 
Throughout  the  land  is  heard  no  more 

Of  War's  dread  din, 
The  cannon's  deadly  roar, 
Alarm  of  drum,  or  trumpet  blast, 
To  call  to  arms  embattled  host  ; 
While  over  all,  and  by  thy  grace 
O  God — vouchsafed  that  peace, 
Yon  flag  doth  wave  more  lustrous  still, 
("Old  Glory,"  loved  so  well) 
Each  star  more  bright,  each  fold  more  dear 
As  time  recedes,  to  you  my  comrades, 

As  year  by  year 

With  feebler  step  and  slow,  ye  come, 
To  homage  those  have  gone  before. 

All  honor  thine  O  dead, 
Who  findeth  .sepulture  beneath  the  sod 
Made  sacred  by  thy  blood. 

Reverently  we  bow,  and  low, 

37 


Iflon  Sibi,  Seb  patria. 


Upon  each  grave  do  humbly  lay, 
(Nor  nobler  couldst  bestow) 

A  victor's  crown. 
The  choicest  flowers  of  spring, 
Rich  treasure  of  the  earth  we  bring, 

The  laurel  and  the  bay  ; 
Bedewed  with  tears  and  fashioned  fair 

Of  woman's  loving  hand, 
Upon  each  mound  from  year  to  year 

We  lay  the  offering  down, 
With  heart  uplift  in  prayer. 
In  prayer  to  Thee,  O  God,  who  didst  ordain 
Their  sacrifice  was  not  in  vain 

Are  so  inurned ; 

So  mourned,  so  honored,  "so  dost  lie, 
That  kings  for  such  a  tomb  would  wish  to  die." 

Scatter  the  flowers. 
Let  tear  drops  fall,  in  kindly  showers, 

Over  each  grave  ; 

Forgetting  not,  are  those  who  gave 
Their  lives  as  freely  these  ye  most  do  seek  to  honor  ; 
For  whom  't  does  seem  the  sighing  breeze 
(To  earnest  heart  and  willing  ear) 
The  burden  of  a  common  grief  doth  bear, 

From  fields  far  distant  here. 
For  where  yon  flag  doth  show 
Some  soldier  comrade  sleeps  below  ; 
Where'er  his  grave,  on  this,  Memorial  Day, 
Some  hand,  some  heart,  of  thine  a  prototype, 

Doth  loving  tribute  pay. 
38 


IFton  Sibi,  Se&  Jpatria. 


And  others  too,  we  mourn. 
Within  the  glade,  adown  the  glen 
Where  clashed  the  steel  of  armed  men  ; 
On  mountain  top,  in  oceans  deep 
They  lie,  whom  loved  ones  weep, 

The  dead  unknown. 
Unknown!     Ah  yes,  but  hallowed  e'er 

Those  nameless  graves, 
And  to  some  hearts,  most  dear. 
No  graven  stone  O  dead,  is  thine, 

Nor  legend  bronze,  to  tell 
Of  how  ye  fought,  or  where  ye  fell  : 
And — save  perchance  of  night  birds'  song, 

The  swell  of  ocean  on  the  shore — 
No  requiem  do  ye  hear, 
Nor  garland  flower,  or  sorrow's  tear, 
Doth  strew  thy  tomb. 
Yet  art  thou  not  forgot ; 
For  these,  thy  comrades  all,  do  mourn  ; 

For  thee  hath  wrought 
Bright  chaplets  of  immortal  green 
Within  each  heart  (albeit  of  men  unseen) 

And — incensed  they  of  love — 
On  angel  wings  are  borne  above 

To  crown  each  patriot  brow. 

THE  RE-UNION. 

Adown  the  years,  as  one  by  one 
Some  comrade  loses  step,  and  halts, 

The  ranks  are  thinner  grown. 
The  low  sad  dirge,  the  muffled  drum, 
39 


IRon  Stbi,  Sefc  patrta. 


Arms  reversed,  and  nodding  sable  plume ; 

The  flag  close  furled,  the  parting  knell 

Of  musketry — the  soldiers'  funeral  bell — 

All,  all  dost  tell  (nor  need  of  words) 

He  answers  there!   God's  muster  roll. 

Each  day  doth  mark  the  passing 

'Cross  "the  ford,"  the  column  quickly  massing, 

Over  yon  ; 

Are  you  ready,  Comrades?     Steady! 
All  have  answered,  say  ye? 
Forward  then — Guide  right !  ! 
Oh  how  glorious  the  sight, 
The  re-uniting,  round  the  throne. 
And  I  hear  again  the  singing 
Of  the  grand  old  anthem,  ringing  : — 

SUNG. 

"In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  born  across 

the  sea, 
With  a  glory  in  His  bosom  that  transfigures  you  and 

me ; 
As  He  died  to  make  men  holy,  so  we  died  to  make  men 

free 
And  God  is  marching  on." 

CHORUS. — Glory,  glory,  hallelujah,  &c. 


40 


TJOlantefc,  H 


"Wanted,  a  man." 
To  and  fro,  to  and  fro  it  swung, 
Over  the  heads  of  the  passing  throng. 

Hour  after  hour,  day  after  day, 
At  morn,  at  noon,  in  the  evening's  gray  ; 
Gently  now  ;  now,  swirling  around 
As  'twould  snap  the  cord  that  held  it  bound  ; 

Tossed  by  the  wind,  it  rose,  and  fell, 

Yet  ever  turning  —  its  tale  to  tell  — 
"Wanted,  a  man." 

A  simple  need  ;   yet,  who  will  dare 
The  summons  answer  —  suspended  there, 
When  —  above  the  earth's  broad  span  — 
The  sign  appears  —  "God  wants  a  man," 

Answer,  and  say,  "Lord,  I  am  he, 
The  man  Thou  seekest  ;  take  me,  take  me." 

'Twas  an  idle  fancy  mayhap,  had  told  — 
In  a  field  of  white  and  letters  of  gold  — 

A  master's  need  ; 
Nor  yet  one  word  of  race,  or  creed. 

And  some  came  ;  yet  it  swung  there  still, 
Ever  repeating  its  "Come,  who  will  ;" 

Swinging,  twirling,  to  and  fro, 
In  the  summers'  sun,  the  winters'  snow, 
41 


Mantel,  H 


Till  the  once  white  field,  dark,  and  dun> 
And  the  letters  of  gold,  one  by  one, 

Shrank  as  it  were  from  the  careless  glance 

Of  the  passers  by,  the  look  askance, 
Until  at  last — o'er  the  open  door, 

Of  "Wanted,  a  man,"  no  message  it  bore. 

And  then  one  day  there  came  a  man, 
Weary  and  footsore,  gaunt,  and  wan  ; 

Hungry,  thirsty,  and  seeking  in  vain 
The  needful  pittance  of  earthly  gain  ; 
But  the  door  was  shut,  the  promise  gone, 
And  the  human  tide — as  he  wandered  on, 

Gave  little  heed  ; 
Of  many  men,  he  was  only — a  man. 

God  wants  a  man.     Dost  hear  His  call — 
The  Master  Workman  of  us  all? 

In  the  sky  above,  the  earth  beneath, 

The  sighing  wind,  the  lily's  breath  ; 

Over  the  waters,  whose  ebb  and  flow 

I/ike  a  giant  pulse,  doth  come,  and  go  ; 

At  morn,  at  eve,  dost  hear  it  still? 

"Come  unto  Me,  all  ye  who  will!" 

God's  workmen  all,  will  you  not  come 

To  gather  in  at  the  Harvest  Home? 
The  field  is  white,  the  laborers  few, 
The  promise  golden,  for  me,  for  you  : 
Hour  after  hour,  day  after  day — 
Will  you  obey? 

42 


Mantefc,  H 


He  calls.     Thro'  the  portal,  open  wide, 
Will  you  not  enter,  to  there  abide? 
To  work,  to  labor,  to  win  the  prize — 
The  crown  of  life  beyond  the  skies? 
*  *  *  * 

The  sign  still  swings  o'er  the  Vineyard  gate, 
Bidding  us  "Come,"  ere  it  be  too  late. 

Come!   ere  the  letters  grow  dim,  and  wan, 
Let  us  enter  in  ;  God  wants  a  man. 


43 


Cbancellorsville, 

©r  :  tflag  of  tbe  ©l&  GbirO  Corps. 

At  Chancellorsville,  way  back  in  '63, 
Where  the  Blue  was  led  by  Hooker 

And  the  Gray  fought  well  with  I/ee ; 
Where  "Fighting  Joe"  first  won  the  day — then  lost; 

As  "Stonewall"  swept  thro'  Howard's  line 
Like  an  avenging  host ; 

Where  meet  it  was  that  hearts  as  true 
As  the  steel  with  which  they  strive 

Should  rally  round  that  flag  they  swore 
Would  float  while  still  they  live ! 

Opposing  there  the  Stars  and  Bars 

(As  oft  opposed  before) 
One  flag  there  was  that  steadfast  shone, 

Flag  of  the  Old  Third  Corps. 

Of  all  who  for  the  Union  wrought 

None  were  more  tried  and  true 
Than  the  boys  who  wore  the  Diamond — ] 

The  red,  the  white,  and  blue. 
His  boys  they  were  at  Williamsburg, 

And  down  the  blood}*-  path 
From  Yorktown  to  the  river  James, 

"Old  Joe"  had  proved  their  worth. 
He  needs  them  now  ;  to  stay  the  wind 

The  whirlwind  must  oppose ! 
"The  Old  Third  to  the  front!"  he  cried, 

44 


Gbancellors\>iUe. 


And  every  man  uprose. 
Sickles  and  Birney,  Berry  there, 

And  Dimmick — gallant  heart — 
Who  fight  for  principle — not  men,  2 

And  nobly  do  their  part. 

On  came  their  Southron  foes, 

With  Stonewall  in  the  van, 
And  pressing  close  on  Howard's  men 

On — to  the  Rapidan. 
Flushed  with  the  pride  of  victory, 

With  the  old  familiar  yell 
As  of  twice  ten  thousand  demons  loosed 

From  out  the  gates  of  Hell ; 
On  and  on,  still  on  they  pressed 

While  yet  before  them  fled 
The  men  "who  would  with  Siegel  fight 

But  not  where  Howard  led  ;" 
On  and  on,  thro'  brake  and  wood 

With  e'er  increasing  roar, 
Until  they  reach  the  old  plank  road 

Where  stands  the  Diamond  Corps. 

Once,  twice  and  thrice  they  charge 

Adown  the  road  that  day  ; 
E'en  to  the  mouths  of  Dimmick's  guns,  3 

The  bravest  of  the  Gray. 
Over  heaps  of  dead  and  dying 

On  with  a  mighty  shout — 
Cries  Dimmick  "Double-shot  with  canister!" 

And  then — his  life  went  out. 
45 


Gbancellors\nlle. 


And  with  him  too,  alas,  went  Berry,  4 

As  valiant  hearted  man 
As  ever  wore  the  Diamond, 

Nor  yet  had  died  in  vain  ; 
For  while  he  lingered  yet  awhile 

This  side  the  other  shore 
He  knew  that  all  was  safe — and  said 

"God  bless  you,  Old  Third  Corps." 

L'ENVOI. 

"Over  the  river  'Stonewall'  passed  ' 

Under  the  shade  to  rest," 
And  he  who  fought  above  the  clouds  6 

Is  numbered  with  the  blest. 
Across  the  river  and  over  the  ford 

All  of  us  soon  will  be, 
Of  the  Blue  who  fought  with  Hooker, 

And  the  Gray  who  wrought  with  L,ee. 
Thank  God !   that  over  the  Rapidan 

The  flowers  in  peace  now  grow 
Over  the  graves  of  brothers  slain, 

And  know  not  friend  from  foe. 
God  be  thanked,  that  from  gulf  to  lake, 

And  stretched  from  shore  to  shore, 
The  flag  of  the  Union  floats  o'er  all, 

Flag  of  the  Old  Third  Corps. 


1.  The  Third  Corps  Badge.  2.  As  the  Eleventh  Corps  broke 
and  ran,  the  men  openly  said  they  would  fight  with  Siegel  but 
not  with  Howard.  3.  Lieut.  Dimmick  commanding  the  famous 
Plank-road  battery.  4.  General  Berry  of  the  Third  Corps. 
5.  Stonewall  Jackson's  dying  remark.  6.  Hooker  at  Lookout 
Mountain. 

46 


Sweetbeart, 

NOTE  :  Originally  published  under  the  caption  of  "  Baby." 

Two  big,  brown  eyes,  laughing  and  bright, 
Shining  like  stars  in  cloudless  night ; 
Roguish  eyes,  that  strive^  to  tell 
Of  wondrous  thoughts  in  each  cavern  cell ; 
Eyes  which  ever  seem  to  say 
"I  will  talk  to  you — some  day." 

Two  little  ears — pinklined  shells, 
Guard  the  retreat  where  memory  dwells  ; 
Sentinels,  that  catch  and  keep 
Each  little  word,  hidden  deep  ; 
And  monitors,  bidding  us  beware 
Lest  aught  impure  find  shelter  there. 

Two  little  lips  coo,  soft  and  low, 
Sweet  notes  from  out  their  Cupid's  bow ; 
Lips  whose  kisses  are  sweeter  far 
Than  comfits  rare  from  Flora's  bower; 
Yet,  lips  that  tremble,  if  aught  distress 
Baby's  heart,  in  its  tenderness. 

Two  little  hands,  upturned  wide, 
Baby's  greeting,  at  eventide. 
Little  hands  so  dimpled,  and  warm, 
And  fingers  clasped  at  the  least  alarm 
Lest  he  should  lose  his  chosen  place 
Next  Papa's  heart ;  in  fond  embrace. 

47 


Sweetbeart. 


Two  little  feet,  and  tiny  toes 
That  peep — sometimes,  thro'  baby's  hose. 
Little  feet,  that  kick  "so  high," 
Trying  so  hard  to  reach  the  sky. 
Kicks,  and  coos,  and  crows  with  glee  ;— 
Two  boys  at  play ;  my  baby,  and  me. 

Sweetheart,  I  would  thine  eyes  shall  see 
Naught  of  life  save  its  purity  ; 
Would  thine  ears  may  never  hear 
Aught  would  defile  thy  character  ; 
Would  thy  lips  may  ne'er  express 
Aught  save  in  loving  gentleness  ; 
Would  thy  hands  the  almoner  be 
Of  heartfelt,  Christlike  charity  ; 
And  at  the  last,  I  would  thy  feet 
Shall  tread,  with  Him,  the  golden  street. 


48 


Brmefc  in  Conscience, 

©r:    Here's  to  a  <3allant  ffoe. 

Written  for,  and  read  by  Judge  George  Savage  at  the 
annual  banquet  of  the  Society  of  the  Army  and  Navy  of  the 
Confederate  States  in  the  State  of  Maryland,  held  at  the  Carroll- 
ton  Hotel,  January  18,  1902. 

"Johnny  Reb,"  here's  to  you! 
Peace,  health  and  happiness  I  pledge, 
From  an  old-time  "Yank,"  a  "Boy  in  Blue" 
Who,  harking  back,  doth  seem  to  hear 
Even  now,  as  then,  the  hearty  cheer 

And  answering  "rebel  yell"- 
(No  wonder  Sherman,  after  hearing  it, 

Should  say  that  "war  is  hell!") 
As  strove  they  each  for  mastery, 
Northern  grit,  and  Southern  chivalry. 
The  war  is  over.     Who  crosses  blades — 

An'  they  be  manly  men, 
No  need  of  words  have  they,  to  fight 

Their  battles  o'er  again  ; 
Nor  is't  the  time  or  place  I  ween 
For  me  to  say,  what  might  have  been. 
The  pledge  I  give — born  of  the  battle  glow, 

Is  this  ;   "Here's  to  a  gallant  foe!" 
*Marshall,  at  the  tomb  of  Grant, 

Surnamed  him  "Magnanimous  ;" 
Nor  need  have  I  to  be  less  generous 
T'ward  thy  loved  chieftain — the  noble  L/ee, 
49 


Brmefc  fn  Conscience. 


Who  as  a  man,  a  soldier  true, 

Was  peer  of  any,  "Gray,"  or  "Blue." 

He  who  fights  can  ne'er  dishonored  be, 

Armed  in  conscience,  and  such  was  L,ee. 

So  say  I,  "Johnny  Reb,"  here's  to  you! 
Peace,  health  and  happiness, 

From  an  old-time  "Boy  in  Blue." 


*  Colonel  Charles  Marshall,  Military  Secretary  of  General 
Robert  E.  Lee. 


50 


TIbe  1Rcn?al  Blue. 

NOTE:  Written  on  the  occasion  of  the  "  Royal  Blue"  trip 
from  Washington  to  Jersey  City,  October  llth,  1890,  made  in 
four  hours  and  sixteen  minutes,  actual  running  time. 

Bumper  to  thee,  O  Royal  Blue! 
Thy  regal  flight  the  country  through ! 
Out  from  the  shadow  of  yonder  dome — 
Pride  of  a  Nation  mightier  than  Rome  ; 
Far  from  Potomac's  storied  stream, 
Flying  through  space  as  in  a  dream, 
Such  speed  as  thine  hath  ne'er  been  seen 
Since  from  hoof  of  Pegasus  sprung  Hippocrene. 
On  thro'  Prince  George's  sweetest  vales, 
Through  Howard's  and  Arundel's  greenest  dales, 
On  we  speed,  to  where  Patapsco  tribute  pays 
To  Chesapeake,  broad  spread  before  our  gaze. 
Through  Harford  and  across  the  stream 
Where  Susquehannocks'  fires  were  wont  to  gleam  ; 
High  o'er  the  tree  tops  and  looking  down 
On  fair  Deposit,  and  Ararat — her  granite  crown  ; 
Away,  away  o'er  the  Brandywine, 
(While  we  toast  thee,  O  steed,  in  juice  of  vine), 
On  to  the  "  City  of  Sweet  Accord  " 
Whence  rang  the  tocsin  allied  pen  and  sword 
To  Freedom's  cause,  an  hundred  years  agone ; 
Over  the  Schuylkill  and  'cross  the  plain 
Once  red  with  blood  of  Hessian  slain  ; 
Across  the  meadow  and  over  the  ford, 
(Cleaving  the  air  like  some  giant  bird) 
51 


Ube  1Ro£al  Blue. 


Swifter,  and  yet  far  swifter  still — 

As  harnessed  ligtning  to  man's  proud  will ; 

On,  still  on  with  yet  increasing  rush  and  roar 

Until  at  last  we  greet  old  Hudson's  shore. 

And  the  sun  of  noon  beams  a  benison 

As  the  goal  is  reached,  the  victory  won. 


52 


Hntietam. 

NOTE;  :  Maryland  has  erected  upon  the  battlefield  of  An- 
tietam  a  monument  commemorating  alike  the  valor  of  her  sons, 
who  fell  upon  either  side  during  the  engagement. 

A  silvery  stream,  and,  spanning  o'er 

(A  narrow  way)  a  lowly  arch  of  stone. 
Deep  in  shade  the  mountain  side  appears; 

Below,  are  fields  of  tasseled  corn. 

Sheep  upon  the  up-lands  graze, 
Kine  browse  along  the  bottom,  or, 

Deep  within  the  stream,  contented  stand. 

Close  by  the  bridge  is  seen  a  church — 

An  edifice  of  modest  mien — 
And,  now  and  again,  a  sweet-voiced  bell 

Is  heard.     And  all  is  peace. 

%         ^         3t         ^ 

Peopled  now  are  vale  and  hill 

With  threatening  murmurs. 
The  northern  slope  a  moving  mass  reveals 

(Of  darker  hue  than  foliage  there)1 
And,  upon  the  crest  opposing, 
Another  mass  ;   a  leaden  cloud  which2 

Breaks  anon  o'er  all  the  plain. 
A  flash  of  light ;   and,  quick  following, 
A  deafening  roar  awakes  the  mountain  top  ; 

Reverberating  then,  and  rolling  on 
In  awe  inspiring  waves. 
Flash  upon  flash  ;  peal  upon  peal 

Goes  echoing  down  the  vale. 
53 


Hntietam. 


Nearer  the  opposing  clouds  approach 

(Darkened  now  the  stream  between)3 

Until,  in  one  grand,  awful  sound — 

As  hell  itself  were  oped,  and  yawning — 
The  climax  reached,  all  is  still  again, 

Save  that,  in  muffled,  saddened  tones, 

The  bell  is  heard  ;  tolling  a  knell. 

*         *         *         * 

And  yet  again  ;   as  in  a  dream. 
The  sun,  high  in  the  heavens,  sheds 
Its  benignant  rays  on  vale  and  stream. 
No  cloud  obscures  the  sky,  the  waters 

I^eap  and  play,  in  joyful  mood. 
The  ripened  grain — waiting  the  sickle — 

Welcomes  the  passing  zephyr, 
And,  bending  low,  doth  seeming  bless 
Its  mother  earth,  for  full,  and  plenty. 

The  song-bird  whistles  to  its  mate, 

Wild-flowers  lend  a  presence  there, 
leadening  the  air  with  sweet  perfume. 

Anon  (still  in  my  dream  I  see) 
High  in  the  heavens  behold  a  cloud ! 
The  while  I  gaze,  another  quick  appearing. 

Nor  threatening  flash  is  there, 

Or  direful  thunder  tone, 

Heralding  such  on-coming. 
From  the  far  North,  from  sunny  South 
They  come   (the  stream  flows  still  between) 
Until,  blended  in  one,  behold  a  shape! 
And,  giving  it  a  name,  I  whisper — PEACE. 

Upon  her  head  she  wears  a  crown — 
54 


Hntietam. 


(Of  five  and  forty  stars) 
Which  fills  the  earth  with  radiance. 
Poised  in  her  hand  a  wreath,  of  olive, 
Bay,  and  laurel  sweet  entwined, 

Pine  and  Palmetto  ;  golden  rod. 
Saw  I  then  (and  until  then  unseen) 
A  stone — it  seeming  spanned  the  stream, 
And  on  it  writ,  graved  by  the  hand  of  History, 
"  Honor  to  them  who  did  as  honor  bade." 

Upon  this  spot  did  Peace  descend, 
Upon  the  stone  placed  she  the  wreath, 
And  thence  departed,  while,  not  one  alone, 

But  many  bells  I  seemed  to  hear, 
Telling  of  joyful  tidings. 

*         *         *         * 

Blessed  be  thy  name  O  Antietam, 

And  thou  O  Maryland,  blessed  be, 
Who  since  Calvert  here  did  first  proclaim 

To  conscience  liberty ! 
Hath  e'er  maintained  an  honored  name. 
Thou  giv'st  them  place — these  shafts  of  stone — 

But  such  as  these  are  not  alone 
Thy  monuments  ; — 
'  Womanly  words,  and  manly  deeds  " 
Thy  'scutcheon  bears  ;   stones  are  but  reeds! 

And,  since  deeds  alone  endure, 

So  shall  thy  action  treasured  be, 
Transmitted  still  from  sire  to  son, 
To  children's  children  given, 
I/iving  still — in  unrecorded  history, 

When  stones  to  dust  return. 


1.    The   Federal   "Blue."      2.  The   Confederate   "Gray.' 
3.  With  Blood. 

55 


Cbrist,  tbe  pattern. 

Amid  a  busy  throng  ; 
Within  the  sound  of  myriad  wheels 
Whose  every  turn  bespoke  my  waking  thought, 

I  dreamed  a  dream. 
Besure,  I  saw  the  shuttle's  bent, 
'Clack-clack,  clack-clack,"  did'st  hear 
The  noisy  passing  to  and  fro  ; 
But,  of  the  pattern  which  it  wrought, 
The  thousand  threads  so  deftly  wove, 
The  blending  colors,  the  watchful  eye  and  hand 
Did'st  guard  each  threatened  danger, 

I  had  no  thought ;  save  of  fancy. 
The  workshop  became  a  life — my  life  ; 
The  loom,  with  all  its  wondrous  power,  my  will ; 
Each  thread  some  thought,  or  act, 
From  which  to  choose — and  to  me  was  given 
To  make  or  mar  the  fabric  to  be  wrought — 

The  product  time  would 'st  surely  bring, 
And  there,  outstretched,  the  pattern  hung. 

The  wheels  revolved  ;  the  shuttle  flew. 

At  first,  not  I  alone,  did'st  guide  the  thread, 

Nor  were  the  colors  all  my  choosing. 
A  little  child  was  I,  content,  and  trusting. 
Another  form  was  by,  and  other  hand  than  mine 
('Twas  torn  and  scarred  by  cruel  wounds) 

Was  there,  and  if  by  chance 

56 


Cbrist,  tbe  pattern. 


Some  thread  did' st  lag,  or  threatening,  broke, 
'Twas  quick  restored,  and  O,  how  beautiful! 
But  soon,  I  stronger  grew,  and  then  I  felt, 

Or  seemed  to  feel,  the  hand  withdrawn. 
Not  far  howe'er;   I  yet  the  presence  knew, 
Was  conscious — should  tangled  web  or  woof 

Or  colors  false  beset  the  course — 
I  need  but  ask,  that  hand  to  place  in  mine. 
And  then  came  pride,  (O  how  false) 

And  halting,  doubt,  and  fear. 
The  wheels  still  turned,  the  shuttle  still  did  fly. 

Forward,  and  back,  forward,  and  back, 
And  with  each  stroke — relentless — 
The  pattern  grew  ;  alas,  I  knew  not  how. 

Knew  not?     Yea,  I  knew  'twas  ill, 
Erewhile  I  still  did  weave ; 
Knew,  that  'mongst  the  blending  colors 
Some  there  were  of  such  a  sombre  hue, 

So  stained  and  so  begrim, 
Beside  the  pattern  set  they  were  as  night 
To  the  glory  of  a  noonday  sun. 
And  that  was  good  ;  for,  as  I  thought 
Behold !   there  came  a  ray,  a  flash 
Of  light  across  my  darkened  sky  ; 
Revealed  once  more  the  outstretched  hand, 
The  form  once  seen,  and  known, 
And  (in  my  dream)  a  voice  I  heard  ; — 
'Yet  is  there  time  ;  so  ye  believe 
And  trust  Me  still,  thy  work  shall  shine 
Even  as  a  lily  on  the  water's  brim!" 
57 


Cbrist,  tbe  pattern* 


And  waking,  methought  I  saw- 
Hanging  o'er  and  lighting  all  the  earth — 
A  glorious  rainbow,  and  within,  a  cross. 

*P  *J*  ^K  *T^ 

Yet  art  Thou  the  pattern,  O  Christ ; 

Yet  is  not  Thy  hand  withdrawn  ; 
The  fabric  of  each  life  can 'st  woven  be 

Like  unto  Thine  own. 
We  may  not  seek  perfectness, 
That  attribute  is  Thine  alone  ; 
But,  with  Thy  hand  upon  life's  loom, 

We,  as  little  children,  guided  ever, 
Tho'  threads  may  warp,  they  will  not  break! 

And  in  Thy  time,  and  by  Thy  grace, 
The  pattern  wove — imperfect  though  it  be, 

May  find  some  place  with  Thee. 
Some  little,  humble  place,  and  where 

It  may  be,  angels  only  tread  ; 
The  fabric  wrought,  not  fit  Thy  foot, 

O  Master  Weaver !   much  less  Thy  throne  ; 
But  where  Thine  eye — the  pitying  eye 
From  Calvary  looked  down — 
May  sometime  dwell,  to  claim  its  own. 


58 


Ube  Efcen  ot  tbe  ffieart. 

Where  did  the  Garden  of  Eden  lie? 
With  Adam's  fall  was  it  swept  away 

Forever  thence  a  mystery? 
Thro'  the  garden,  did  the  Tigris  flow 

Ever  onward,  then  as  now  ; 
Or,  as  some  believe,  was  the  Euphrates 
The  river  which  flowed  amid  its  trees, 

And  with  its  song,  all  day  long, 
The  music  vied  of  the  perfumed  breeze? 
What  matters  it?     Have  we  not  each  within 

The  Voice  of  God?     The  power  to  sin? 
Shall  the  higher  law — infinite  truth — 

Ever  bend  to  the  Serpent's  breath  ; 
Impulse,  not  goodness,  sway  the  will, 
And  base  desire  bid  conscience  e'er  be  still? 
Forbid  it,  L,ord!   Loving,  and  Kind; 
Merciful,  that  we  Thy  grace  may  find  ; 
Pitiful,  that  Thou  in  turn  shalt  pity  show, 
We  each  within  a  garden  may  possess 

Akin  to  Eden's  loveliness  ; 
Wherein  the  flowers,  budding,  shall  grow 
In  rich  abundance  ;  their  incense  sweet  impart 
From  out  the  garden  of  the  heart ; 
And  in  his  hand — who  bids  them  bloom — 
Shall  woven  be  ;  a  Heavenly  crown. 


59 


passing  of  tbe  IRegiment. 

Baltimore— 1861-1898. 

Written  of  the  march  of  the  Sixth  Massachusetts  through 
Baltimore,  on  their  way  South,  during  the  Spanish-American 
war. 

Ominous  sounds  !     The  multitude, 
With  excited  gesture  and  fiery  tongue, 
Impassioned  thought  and  speech,  unreasoned, 

Hurried  toward  a  common  center. 
And  some  went  armed  ;  and,  with  no 
Deep  imagine,  mingled  with  the  clang 

Of  steel  was  heard  the  duller  sound 

Of  iron  gyves,  fetters  which  had 
Clasped  ere  then  the  human  form, 
And  burned  deep  into  the  souls  of  men 
Moulded  in  the  image  of  a  common  Maker. 

Fierce  and  fiercer  grew  the  fire, 
Fanned  by  the  breath  of  prejudice 
And  hate  born  of  the  years,  of 
Intemperate  words,  imagined  wrong 
And  pride  of  section,  until,  o'erleaping 

Reason's  bounds,  naught  else  dost 

Satisfy  to  quench  its  thirst,  insatiate, 
Save  brothers'  blood. 

Auspicious  sounds!     The  multitude — 
A  giant  gathering,  impatient  waits. 
Strong  men  are  there,  and  women  whose 

Gay  attire  bespeaks  a  festal  throng. 
60 


ot  tbe  IRegiment. 


Waiting,  they  speak  of  other  days, 
When,  as  it  were,  some  loved  one 

Gone  forth  from  out  their  midst, 
Was  now,  anon,  about  to  come  again, 
To  welcomed  be  with  all  which  doth 

Belong  to  pride  of  home  and  fireside. 
A  mighty  shout!    "My  Maryland"  and  "Dixie." 
How  strange,  yet  how  more  than  sweet, 

From  Northern  pipes  those  notes ! 
And  when  the  strains  of  "Yankee  Doodle" 
Therein  do  mingle,  telling  of  how, 
Long,  long  ago,  men  of  Massachusetts 
And  of  Maryland  battled  for  freedom, 

Estranged  were,  and  now  again  united, 
What  wonder  if  tears  now  grime 
A  manly  cheek  and  voices  husky  grow. 

Through  crowded  streets  they  march, 
And  as  they  wheel  their  feet  on  roses  tread. 
No  thought  of  fetters  now,  except  it  may  be 

Bright  eyes  entangle  with  a  glance 
Some  soldier  lad,  who  straightway 
Thinks  himself  at  home  again. 

And  oh,  the  sentiment!   There  marches, 

And  with  no  lesser  welcome  they, 
Men  of  a  race  within  whose  veins 
Flows  blood  of  darkened  hue,  heirs 

Erewhile  of  Slavery's  curse,  but  now, 
Thank  God,  heritant  of  common  weal, 
Clad  in  a  common  garb,  armed  with 

A  common  purpose — the  righting 
Of  a  People's  wrong. 

61 


Gbtistmas,  1861. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  late  war  passion  was  so  aroused  on 
either  side  that  it  was  quite  a  common  occurrence  for  the  out 
lying  pickets  to  shoot  each  other  on  sight.  It  was  no  better 
than  assassination,  and  later  grew  to  be  so  recognized.  So 
much,  in  fact,  did  soldierly  sentiment  in  this  respect  change 
that  very  often,  later  in  the  war,  the  pickets  of  the  respective 
armies  could  be  seen  fraternizing  together,  more  like  friends 
than  foes. 

And  yonder  lies  the  Christmas  morn. 
The  weary  sentinel,  pacing  to  and  fro 
His  lonely  beat,  halts  ever  and  anon 
To  catch  whate'er  might  lie  beyond 
The  range  of  vision.     For  the  ear, 
By  long  accustom  well  attuned, 
Doth  to  the  eye  assistance  lend, 
Detecting  oft  approaching  danger. 
The  moon,  pale,  and  now  and  again 
Obscured  by  passing  clouds,  serves  but 
As  a  treacherous  friend, 
Shedding  but  a  feeble  ray  at  best, 
And,  when  necessity  the  loudest  calls, 
Deepening  the  shadows  with  still  darker  gloom  ; 
Or  (and  still  the  simile  observe)  if  perchance 
The  eye  or  ear  doth  lurking  danger  dread, 
Then  is  it  that  a  stray  moonbeam 
Most  surely  glints  the  shining  steel — 
As  nothing  loth  a  presence  to  betray, 
And  lure  him  on  to  foul  destruction. 
So  the  hour  passes,  and  still  he  paces, 
62 


Gbrisimas,  1861. 


Silently  marking  the  intervening  time 
Beyond  which  he  may  lay  him  down 
To  dream  of  home  and  loved  ones. 
To  dream,  perchance,  of  the  loved  wife 
Who  bade  him — when  drums  beat  to  arms 
And  bugles  rang  a  clarion — go  forth 
To  fight  for  her  and  duty  ;   of  aged  mother 
Or  darling  boy — a  tender  stripling — 
Who,  with  somewhat  of  like  feeling, 
E'en  now  dost  buckle  on  a  tiny  sword 
And  bids  defiance  to  maternal  warning. 
These  are  far  away,  to  measure  distance 
As  the  crow  flies,  yet  ever  present. 
In  his  heart  he  folds  them  close  ; 
In  his  mind's  vision  he  sees  their  tender  glance, 
And  hears  the  cherished  voices 
Echoing  and  re-echoing  his  words  of  love. 
Soon  he  thinks,  he  will  be  with  them, 
In  the  body,  as  now  in  spirit. 
This  cruel,  more  than  fratricidal  war, 
Arraying  father  'gainst  son, 
Son  'gainst  father,  brother  'gainst  brother, 
Surely,  He  whose  birthday  is  the  morrow 
Will  not  long  permit  so  foul  a  wrong ! 
And  so  it  is  his  heart  more  lightsome  grows, 
His  step  more  light,  yet  firm, 
And  his  thought,  thus  heaven  directed, 
Augurs  well  the  approaching  morn. 
'Mother,  wife,  my  boy,"  he  murmers, 
'They,  I  know,  have  prayed  for  me  this  night ; 
Why  should  not  I  for  them  (humbly  suppliant) 
Ask  of  Him  a  blessing  and  protection? 
Father,  bless  all — I  love — " 

*****^i};* 
63 


Cbristmas,  1861. 


A  shot !  and  all  again  is  still. 
They  found  him  thus,  they  who  came 
To  his  relief — alas !   too  late. 
When  for  him,  his  lonely  vigil  ended, 
No  trump,  save  that  of  Gabriel, 
Would  e'er  again  sound  in  his  ear  ; 
Nor  drum,  nor  shrieking  fife,  albeit 
Most  pleasant  music  to  a  soldier,  call. 
Never  again  for  him  the  battle  roar 
To  wake  a  noble  nature  to  ignoble  passion, 
Or  rage  to  war  with  kin. 
Nay,  rising  rather  on  wings  of  peace, 
Doth  not  his  spirit,  with  outstretched  arms, 
Hasten  to  meet  yon  heavenly  throng  ; 
To  cry  aloud  with  them,  (God  speed  the  day!) 
'Peace  on  earth  ;  good  will  to  men." 


64 


2>o  11  2Lo\>e  Ubee? 

Doth  it  need  then,  love  be  spoken? 

Speech  is  silver,  silence  golden  ; 
Of  love  the  essence. 
And  dost  thou  need  the  weak  endeavor 
Of  mine  tongue,  to  so  discover 
I<ove's  presence? 

Nay  :  love  needs  not  speech. 
From  the  eyes,  whose  drooping  lids 
Modesty  dost  hide  ;    from  cheeks  where,  blushing, 

Tell-tale  roses  dwell ; 
From  the  lip,  whose  tender  quiver 
Speaks  for  the  tongue — whose  vain  endeavor 

It  knows  so  well ; 
A  pressure  of  the  hand,  so  soft 
'Tis  scarcely  felt,  and  yet,  how  oft 

The  tale  has  told. 
Thy  instinct,  love,  doth  tell  thee, 
However  slight  the  pressure  be, 

The  heart's  not  cold. 
Doth  it  need  then,  love  be  spoken? 
Ah,  no  ;  by  many,  many  a  token 

Can  love  be  known. 

Heart  linked  to  heart,  by  chain  so  golden, 
No  word  dost  need  ;  the  silence  broken 

By  those  hearts  alone, 
In  their  beating  gently  meeting, 
Each  responsive  ;  each  in  fleeting, 

Caught  the  echo,  flings  it  back  again. 
Wherefore  then,  should  love  be  told? 

in  mine  eyes!   as  I  thy  form  enfold, 

And  tell  me,  words  are  vain. 
65 


Xifee  Sire,  OLifee  Son. 

NOTE  '.  Among  those  who  fell  before  Santiago  was  a  young 
officer — the  son  of  a  former  gallant  Confederate — who  was  slain 
while  cheering  his  followers  on  to  victory.  His  sword  was  one 
bequeathed  him  by  his  father. 

The  line  had  wavered,  was  all  but  lost 

The  vantage  gained,  at  frightful  cost, 
When,  springing  to  the  front,  a  Southern  youth, 

With  flashing  eye,  and  heated  breath 
Cried,  "Do  you  falter,  men  of  the  North ! 

Or  you,  proud  scions  of  the  West? 
Behold  this  blade!   so  prized,  so  richly  blest ; — 
'Four  years,  my  father  told  me,  e'er  he  died, 

Four  years  I  gave,  with  honor  strove 
Beneath  the  Stars  and  Bars — the  flag  I  loved. 

To  you,  my  boy,  this  sword  I  give, 
Commanding  you,  while  life  survive, 

To  let  no  stain  attach  to  such  bequest  ;'- 
Who  this  blade  will  follow?  to  yonder  crest!" 
Outrang  the  swords.     From  West  and  Northmen  then 

Rang  out  the  cry  '  %ead  on !   L,ead  on  ! " 
And  halting  not,  altho'  a  leaden  rain 
Laid  many  low — alas,  that  he  was  of  the  slain — 
High  on  the  crest  they  planted,  firm  and  fast, 

"Old  Glory!"   Men  of  the  North,  and  West. 
Reverently  they  bore  him — their  loved  dead, 
With  saddened  heart,  and  not  ashamed  of  tears  were 
shed. 

With  muffled  drum-beat,  arms  reverse 
66 


Xtfee  Sire,  OLifce  Son. 


Nor  silken  shroud,  or  plumed  hearse ; 

His  eulogy,  a  loving  comrade's  word  ; 
Beneath  the  sod  which  yet  did'st  weep 

Tears  of  blood,  they  laid  him  down,  to  sleep. 
His  hand  still  clasped  the  well-loved  blade, 
Agape  the  wound  whence  life  had  sped, 

Yet  on  his  lip  was  seen  a  smile, 
As  if,  when  death  drew  nigh  erewhile, 
Some  voice  had'st  whispered  in  his  ear 

"Sleep,  my  boy,  for  I  am  near;" 
And  he — replying  as  he  died — 

"Father!   art  thou  then  satisfied?" 


67 


We  Salute  22ou ! 

(Tune:     Marching    Thro'    Georgia.) 

"You've  had  your  day"  so  we  are  told, 

Who  dearly  love  to  tell 
Of  Gettysburg  and  Shiloh, 

Who  know  that  "war  is  hell;" 
But  Dewey  set  the  pace,  my  boy, 

Joe  Wheeler  wasn't  slow, 
Chap'roning  'Teddy'  at  El  Caney. 

CHORUS. 

"Hurrah!"  we  sang,  "we  bring  the  jubilee, 
Hurrah!  hurrah!  the  flag  that  sets  you  free: 
Hark!   the  echo  'cross  the  sea 
(Though  not  in  mother  tongue) 
Welcome!   thrice  welcome !    "Old  Glory." 

Sang  of  "John  Brown's  body"  then 
"Lies  mould'ring  in  the  grave  ;" 

From  the  grave  his  spirit  rose, 

'Marched  on'  to  free  the  slave ; 

And  Santiago's  trenches  proved 
They  were  not  freed  in  vain: 
*The  *  color -line'  there  was,  "Old  Glory." 

Hobson's  new,  and  Schley  is  (?)   old, 

But  not  too  old  to  lead  : 
'Chips  from  off  the  block'  we're  told  ; 
68 


,  We  Salute 


'The  grain  tells' — from  the  seed  ; 
And  if  our  sons  do  well,  why  we 

Are  prouder  far  than  they  ; 
My  boy!   the  'old  man'  salutes  you. 

Hail!  the  flag.     My  boy,  each  stripe, 
Each  star — was  born  of  Heaven  ; 

The  sacred  trust  our  fathers  gave, 
To  you,  unsullied  given  ; 

Your  valor  proved,  we  rest  content, 
Well  spent  we  count  our  lives  ; — 

My  boy!   the  'old  man'  salutes  you. 

Tho'  steeped  in  blood  each  crimson  stripe, 
Each  star  the  sword  out -wrought, 

Has  ever  yet  in  honor  stood 

The  flag — with  blessings  fraught ; 

With  val'rous  hearts  shall  ever  stand 
So  long  as  freemen  live  : — 

My  boy!   the  'old  man'  salutes  you. 

For  right,  not  might,  nor  conq'rors  lust 
Or  greed  thy  course  to  mar  ; 

Draw  not  thy  sword  save  honor's  mood 
Shall  spur  thee  on,  to  war  ; 

And  'neatheach  shelt'ring  fold  let  naught 
But  justice  e'er  abide ! 

My  boy!   the  'old  man'  salutes  you. 

So  shall  a  nation  blessed  be 

Whose  people  all  are  free ; 
Each  freeman  sov' reign — one  in  all — 

69 


,  Me  Salute 


To  guard  its  destiny ; 
A  blessing  spread  throughout  the  world, 

Enlightening  man  for  man  : — 
My  boy!  the  'old  man'  salutes  you. 

TO  THE   COMRADES. 

Beards  are  growing  whitened,  boys, 

Adown  the  passing  years  ; 
Miss'd  the  clasp  of  many  a  hand, 

The  smiles  oft  turn  to  tears  ; 
We'll  greet  them  there!  the  "Boys  in  Blue," 

Outstretched  each  Comrade's  hand  : — 
Comrades!   'till  then,  we  salute  you. 


*The  Ninth  Infantry  (colored)  saved  the  "  Rough  Riders' 
from  probable  defeat. 


70 


ZIbe  %afc£  a^  tbe 


There,  at  her  feet,  the  lily  lies  ; 

Behind  the  bars,  hungry,  expectant, 
Crouches  the  lion  ;  watching  with  greedy  eyes. 

Above  —  unseen  of  all  save  her  alone 

Who  sees  through  eyes  of  faith, 
A  glittering  diadem  —  the  martyr's  crown. 

The  thronged  arena,  open  to  the  sky, 

For  one  brief  space  is  strangely  still 
As  all  of  Rome  looks  on,  to  see  her  die; 

Or,  the  lily  chosen,  with  wild  acclaim 
Bid  her  to  live!   so  she  shall  Christ  deny. 

'Tis  hers  to  choose  ;  such  is  the  law. 
Choosing  life  (and  the  world)  only  to  stoop  has  she; 

With  one  quick  bending  of  the  knee 
From  off  the  sands  to  pluck  the  flower, 
And  bid  to  cease  —  for  her  —  the  lion's  roar. 

So  young,  so  fair,  so  full  of  hope, 

So  loving,  and  beloved,  ere  then  :  — 
O  cruel  hour,  O  fleeting  time  wherein 
To  choose.     And,  close  beside,  the  lion's  den. 
Stainless  the  robe  she  wears  :  as  pure 
Has  been  her  life.     Shall  fear  of  death  allure? 

A  moment  only  :  yet  doth  it  suffice. 

She  chooses,  Christ!  With  saintly  tread 
(The  lily,  as  she  walks,  unconscious  crushed) 

She  passes  on,  and  steady  on,  until 
Facing  Caesar,  she  stands.     The  multitude  is  hushed. 

71 


Ube  3Lafc#  anfc  tbe 


No  word  is  said  ;  no  thumb  is  turned. 

True  to  nature,  the  lion  rends  his  prey  ; 

Thou,  O  Caesar,  mad  in  thine  impotence, 
Wouldst  conquer  souls!  Thou,  a  god  of  clay, 
And  only  for  an  hour  ;  then,  hence ! 

Gone  is  the  arena ;   Caesar,  too,  gone. 

Both  live  in  history,  in  sculptured  stone ; 
But,  when  stones  shall  crumble,  and  decay, 
Then  shall  Christ  still  live !  around  His  throne 

Shall  gather  those  who  the  arena  trod, 

Who  owned  Him  Lord ;  art  blest  of  God. 


72 


ZTbe  tflas  of  /IDontereE, 

NoTE :  Lines  attributed  to  John  T.  Gray  on  receiving — 
after  the  death  of  Major  General  John  R.  Kenly — the  flag  of  the 
Baltimore  Battalion  carried  in  the  war  with  Mexico,  and  planted 
in  victory  on  the  rampart  of  Fort  Teneria,  Monterey,  Septem 
ber,  1846". 

Dear  old  flag,  I  greet  thee. 
Thy  tattered  folds,  each  stripe,  each  star 
Do  memories  recall  are  dearer  far 

All  else  beside — to  me. 
More  eloquent  than  human  tongue, 
And  sweeter  far  than  e'er  the  Dryad  sung, 

Thou  speak'st  to  me  of  bygone  years, 
Of  glorious  hopes  and  trembling  fears, 
And  life,  and  death,  and  pitying  tears. 

Of  camp  and  march,  of  duties  done, 

Of  val'rous  deeds,  and  battles  won  ; 
The  living — crowned  with  victor's  wreath  ; 
The  dead — who  blessed  thee  with  their  dying  breath  ; 
Of  war,  and  peace,  the  dear  old  home, 
Thus  do  memories,  thronging,  come, 
As  here  I  stand,  with  bowed  head, 
And  touch,  with  reverent  hand,  each  thread 

Made  sacred  by  their  blood 
Who  sleep  beneath  a  foreign  sod. 

It  matters  not  art  rent,  and  torn  ; 

Thou  art  to  me  O  flag,  as  when,  upborne 

By  Hart ;  by  Kenly  led— 
Chivalric  Watson  numbered  with  the  dead — 
On  El  Teneria 's  frowning  height 

73 


ZTbe  jflaa  of  flDonteres. 


Thy  stars  appeared — a  shining  light — 
To  mark  a  course  well  run. 

E'en  now  as  then,  thro'  smoke  and  fire 

I  see  thee  mounting,  higher,  higher! 

Mid'st  hurtling  shot,  the  shriek  of  shell, 
Lost  now  to  view  as  brave  Hart  fell ; 
Up  now  again,  by  L/ennox  borne 
High  o'er  the  flowering  cane  and  corn  ; 

Upward  and  onward,  forward  still, 

Encompassed  round  with  bristling  steel  ; 
On,  and  On  !   Teneria's  flame 
Lighting  the  path  with  ruddy  gleam  ; 

Onward  and  upward  !   Ever  on  ! 

Until  at  last — the  rampart  won — 

Thousands  of  voices  rend  the  air 

To  see  thee  proudly  waving  there. 

Flag  of  Watson  ;  Brave  Bronaugh  ; 

Of  Stewart :  Boyd  :  to  Piper  dear ; 

Tho'  rent  thy  stripes,  and  torn  thy  stars, 

Well  hast  thou  borne  thee  ;  and  in  thy  scars  art  fairer 

still 

(To  one  hast  loved  thee  long  and  well) 
Than  when — unbaptised  thou  of  patriot  blood — 
On  Astec  plain  thou  bid'st  thy  followers  on 
'Gainst  proud  Ampudia's  host;  and  Torrejon. 

Then  wert  thou  beautiful  indeed 
As  some  fair  maid,  of  whom  her  lover's  creed 

Admits  is  none  more  fair ; 
And  yet,  encrimsoned  by  the  blood  of  those  who  fell 

Before  Teneria's  seething  hell, 
Thy  stripes  took  on  a  richer  hue, 
Thy  stars,  engloried,  brighter  grew, 

74 


Ube  ffla$  ot 


As  burst  the  cloud  of  smoke  and  flame 
Of  Victory!  !  thou  did'st  proclaim. 
Nor  oriflamme  of  France, 
Opposed  the  tide  of  Austrian  lance, 
More  proudly  waved — that  day — 
Than  thou  O  flag,  o'er  Monterey. 
On  Obispada's  walls  so  gray, 
The  sun  still  casts  a  lingering  ray. 
Reflected  still  in  San  Juan's  flow, 
The  stars  of  Heaven  doth  softly  glow. 
Still  from  above,  from  Ind'pendencia's  height 
There  comes  an  answering  gleam  of  light, 
Anon  the  moon,  o'er  vale  and  stream 
Its  radiance  sheds ;  like  some  fair  dream. 
Still  high  o'er  all — a  giant  ward — 
Sierra  Madre  keeps  eternal  guard, 
While  cactus'  blooms  and  flowering  vine 
(Like  incense  from  some  holy  shrine) 
Their  fragrance  shed  ;  nor  seems  to  know 
The  grave  of  friend  from  that  of  foe. 
'Tis  holy  ground  ;  for  there  doth  sleep 
Those  we  did  love,  for  whom  we  weep  ; 
Who  gavest  all  O  flag,  for  thee, 
Emblem  of  Liberty ! 
Nor  faltered  not,  but  followed  on 
To  win  for  thee  the  victor's  crown  ; 
For  thee  O  flag,  did'st  win  a  glory  wreath, 
For  self,  an  honored  name  ;  and  death. 
Dear  old  flag,  I  love  thee  well ; 
Ever  shall  love  thee,  until  Death's  knell 
Shall  call  me  hence  ; 
Living,  I  hail  thee  dearer  far  than  all, 
And  dead,  be  thou  my  funeral  pall. 

75 


for  Cbrist. 


O'er  altar'd  niche  the  jeweled  cross 
Reflected  back  a  thousand  rays  of  light  ; 

Impassioned  music  filled  the  air, 
And  blending  with  its  softer  chords, 
I  heard  the  voice  of  garbed  priest 
Bidding  the  multitude  to  prayer. 
Higher  and  higher  rose  the  strain, 

Thro'  vaulted  dome  uprose  the  song 
Which  told  of  Him  —  the  Crucified  — 
While  to  and  fro  the  censer  swung. 

Anon,  the  priest  —  whose  sacred  robe 
Nor  richer  gem'd  than  stored  his  mind  ; 
Whose  pitying  word  was  yet  a  probe 
To  every  wound  he  fain  would  bind  — 

Told  of  the  Saviour,  His  life,  and  death, 
His  cruel  death  by  Pilate's  foul  decree, 

Until  —  of  heartfelt  agony  —  I  cried, 
'Would,  O  Lord,  I  could  have  died  for  Thee!" 

%  >£  ^  sfc  ^  >jc  ;j< 

The  service  o'er,  I  lingered  still 

Beside  the  hall  owed  shrine, 
Thinking  of  Christ  ;  to  do  His  will. 
I  cried,  "What,  O  lyord,  would  have  me  do  ; 

What  service,  acceptable,  to  bring, 
That  I  —  who's  death  availeth  naught  — 
Numbered  may  be  among  Thy  following." 

And  as  I  looked  upon  the  cross, 
76 


for  Cbrist. 


The  pierced  hand  with  nails  were  riven, 
A  low,  sweet  voice  methought  I  heard — 
Some  angel  voice,  a-fresh  from  Heaven. 
It  seemed,  the  very  lips  did  move  ; 
The  eyes,  a  loving  glance  bestowed  ; 

The  crown  of  thorns  a  halo  shone 
Filling  all  space  : — O'ercome,  to  earth  I  bowed. 
'My  son,  (the  tone  was  sweeter  far 
Than  heard  beside  my  mother's  knee) 
Since  not  by  thy  death  can'st  thou 
The  Kingdom  gain,  live!   live  thou  for  me." 


77 


/IDs  dfirst  3Lo\>e. 

(A  Song.) 

Softly  over  vale  and  stream 
Fall  the  shadows — like  a  dream  : 
And  lingering,  catch  each  gleam, 

Departing  day ; 

Stars  are  twinkling  forth  their  light — 
Telling  of  the  coming  night — 
As  when  we  our  love  did  plight, 

Witnessing  they. 

Now,  far  from  thy  side  I  roam, 
Far  from  childhood's  happy  home, 
Yet  will  the  mem'ries  e'er  come 

At  close  of  day  ; 
Still  art  thou  dear  as  when 
O'er  the  hillside,  through  the  glen, 
Oft  strayed  we  together  then, 

Blithesome,  and  gay. 

What  though  years  may  come,  and  go? 

Ivike  the  ocean's  ebb  and  flow 

Heart  of  mine  no  change  shall  know  ; 

The  same  for  aye  ; 

Still  true  to  thee — though  distant  far — 
Praying,  trusting,  hoping  e'er 
That  for  thee  no  cloud  shall  mar 

Returning  day. 
78 


ZTbe  ffourtb  of 

Welcome  to  Pen-Mar! 

Whose  rocky  mounts  and  sylvan  shades, 

Anon  resounding  to  the  alarm  of  war, 
Look  out  to-day  upon  yon  vale — 
Where  sculptured  stone  doth  tell  of  martial  deeds  *- 

So  smiling  fair  in  peace  and  plenty. 
Here — upon  their  border  land — 

Two  sister  States,  each  proud 
In  its  own  strength  and  might ; 
Proud  in  the  achievements  of  her  sons 

On  land  and  sea,  in  war  and  peace 
(Yet  prouder  still  to  own  a  common  name) 

Are  met  to  celebrate  a  Nation's  birth. 
A  son  of  Penn,  are  you? 
Or  you,  a  son  of  Calvert? 
Are  ye  not  brothers  all !  Americans ! 
And  if  perchance  from  yonder  dome 
The  Bell  of  Independence  did  first  proclaim 

All  men  are  free  and  equal, 
Did  not  its  echoes, 
From  lake  to  gulf,  and  back  again, 
Fill  all  the  air  with  equal,  gladsome  strain? 
Was  it  at  Lexington,  or  Bunker  Hill, 

On  Camden's  bloody  field, 
At  Yorktown  or  the  Valley  Forge 

That  freedom  was  attained? 
Who  gave  the  priceless  boon  ? 

79 


Ube  dfourtb  of 


From  farthest  North  to  sunny  South, 

From  Western  hills  to  Eastern  slope 
The  answer  conies — Americans  ! 
Forgetful  for  a  time,  two  flags  there  were 

And  each  did  find  its  followers. 

And  brothers  fought,  and  fell, 
And  women  mourned. 

Brave  men  were  they,  and  honorable, 
And  while  they  fought  the  world  in  pity  gazed 
At  strife  so  fratricidal. 
As  it  must  ever  be,  one  conquered, 
But  straight  a  helping  hand  the  victor  gave 

To  raise  and  cheer  his  fallen  brother. 
Thank  God,  they  still  were  one — Americans! 
And  God  be  thanked,  that  with  no  star  undimmed 
The  flag  of  Washington  more  lustrous  grows, 

From  year  to  year  new  honor  gains. 
Thank  God,  that  'neath  its  folds 

A  nation  hap'ly  dwells,  and  shall 
By  His  blest  Providence,  forevermore. 

^Gettysburg.  July  4,  1891. 


80 


Sounfc  tbe  Bfcv>ance. 

"Sound  the  retreat ! ' ' 
So  spake  the  King.     From  far  afield 
He  sees  the  stubborn  foe  refuse  to  yield, 
And  glittering  crests — his  pride  and  boast — 
Halt  and  wavering  before  the  rival  host. 
"Sire?"  The  herald  youth,  his  eye  aflame, 
Mantling  his  brow  the  flush  of  shame  ; 
Who  knows  no  fear — save  of  his  sov' reign  lord, 
Daring  to  question  look,  or  word  : — 
"Sire,  they  never  taught  me  that ;   for  France 
This  only  did  I  learn — Advance!" 
Outrang  the  blast  ;  so  wild,  and  shrill, 
The  battling  ranks,  in  wonderment,  grew  still ; 
Then — the  rallying  cry  '  'the  King !   the  King ! ' ' 
While  fiercer  yet  the  echoes  ring — 
A  thousand  eagles  blaze  the  way 
For  France,  and  victory. 

'  'Sound  the  Advance ! ' ' 
O  daughter  of  the  King ;  O  son  of  Him 
Whose  heralds  are  seraphs  and  cherubim  ; 
If  on  the  battle-field  of  life 
Thou  art  faltering  in  the  strife  ; 
If  doubts  possess  and  fears  assail, 
And  thine  own  courage  doth  thee  naught  avail ; 
Hark  then  the  trumpet  call — 'twill  surely  sound — 
"In  His  Name!"  the  watchword,  the  world  around 

81 


Sounfc  tbe  Btwance, 


And  if  thou  see'st  thy  brother  fears  defeat 
Give  thou  the  rallying  cry — "never  retreat!" 
O  follower  of  the  King,  the  combat's  here  ; 
Overcoming •,  thy  crown  of  triumph — there ! 
If  thou  with  Him  of  victory  wouldst  know, 
Take  on  His  armor,  'twill  conquer  ev'ry  foe  ; 
The  cross  thy  shield,  faith  then  thy  lance, 
Soldier  of  Christ !  sound  the  advance. 


82 


Canteen. 

(Tune:  The  Old  Oaken  Bucket.) 

How  dear  to  our  hearts  are  the  days  of  "Auld  Lang 

Syne," 
Way  back  in  the  'Sixties,  when  we  were  "  The 

Boys;" 
Gay,  light-hearted  "Boys,"  on  the  march,  round  the 

camp-fire, 

Dividing  our  sorrows,  and  sharing  our  joys. 
And  now,  once  again,  when  the  camp-fire  is  lighted, 
We  turn  back  the  years  that  have  rolled  in  between , 
Recalling  the  days  we  marched  elbow  to  elbow, 

And  drink  once  again  from  the  same  old  canteen. 

CHORUS  :  The  old  army  canteen, 
The  rusty  old  canteen, 
The  cloth-covered  canteen, 
Now  hangs  on  the  wall. 

We  love  the  old  scenes,  ev'ry  ditch  by  the  roadside, 
The  hard-tack,  the  rail-fire  our  coffee  did'st  boil: 
And  even  the  "skippers,"  we  do  not  forget  them — 

The  "skippers"  we  frizzled — to  sweeten  the  broil. 
The  chickens  and  turkeys,  lamb-fries  and  plum  pud 
dings, 

We  gave  them  the  go-by  (as  often  as  seen.) 
We  dined  like  a  lord,  on  our  bacon  and  bean-soup, 
And  a  draught,  sweet  and  pure,  from  the  army 
canteen. — CHO. 
83 


TIbe  ©1C)  Canteen. 


How  cheerful  (?)  we  always  turned  out  in  the  morning, 
At  guard-mount   and  drill   we  were   always  on 

hand. 

We  polished  our  shoes,  we  brightened  our  buttons, 
And  the  way  we  "policed,"  why  it  just  "beat  the 

band!" 

We  loved  (?)  all  the  Gen'rals,  the  Colonels  and  Cap'ns, 
"Old  Saw-Bones" — God  bless  'em,  who  gave  us 

quinine  : 

When  our  rations  fell  short,  the  cook  got  a  cussing, 
But  always  a  blessing,  the  old  army  canteen. 
CHO. 

The  musket,  now  rusty,  the  grimy  old  saber, 

The  knapsack  and  canteen  is  hung  on  the  wall ; 
They're  useless,  they  tell  us,  who  know  not  their  story, 

The  story  lies  deep  in  our  hearts,  one  and  all. 
The  story,  we  tell  it,  nor  can  we  forget  it, 

When   gathered,  as   now,  round  the  camp-fire's 

bright  sheen  ; 
While  we  drink  to  the  health  of  our  comrades,  and 

brothers, 

A   toast — sweet    and  loving,   "The    Army  Can 
teen." — CHO. 

L/ike  leaves  of  the  forest  our  comrades  are  falling, 

The  half-masted  flag  often  tells  the  sad  tale, 
As  "taps"  sweetly  echoes,  the  notes  e'er  resounding 
O'er    mountain    and    hill-top,    thro'   murmuring 

vale. 
And  soon  the  last  one — some  dearly  loved  comrade, 

Will  pass  on  beyond — to  where  lies  the  "Unseen," 
Who  e'er  he  may  be,  round  our  camp-fire  assembled, 
We  pledge  the  last  drop  in  our  loved  old  can 
teen. — CHO. 

84 


Battle  of  SLife. 


Yonder  lies  the  grave  ;   'tween  life,  and  death, 
Time,  and  eternity,  man's  feeble  breath. 

The  battle  of  life!   What  of  the  combat, 
And  who  the  victor,  when  man  doth  yield, 
As  yield  he  must  —  to  Death,  the  field? 

Who  is  the  conqueror?  Nor  length  of  days, 
Nor  worldly  fame,  or  riches,  e'er  betrays, 
For  these  are  naught  ;   and  can  it  be 

A  moldy  grave  so  shrines  a  victory? 
What  cometh  then  ?  what  gone  before 
O  impotent  !   so  quick  bereft  of  seeming  power. 

Doth  so  believe?  O  wrretched  life 
Were  quenched  at  last  in  such  ignoble  strife. 
God  tells  us  life  is  not  a  fleeting  breath  ; 

Man  lives,  and  living,  conquers  Death. 

There  is  a  conflict.     Is  there  a  middle  road 
Which  one  may  choose  —  'tween  self,  and  God? 

Evil  and  good  between,  the  false  and  true, 
Must  not  the  line  be  drawn  —  for  me?  for  you? 
God  made  the  darkness,  and  the  light  ; 

Is  aught  between  the  day,  and  night? 
A  middle  road  !   Who  sought  to  tread 
In  such  a  way  —  'tween  man,  and  God  ; 
Judged  not  (albeit  a  ruler)  yet  still  agreed 
In  place  of  justice,  mockery!   for  law,  a  creed! 

So  Pilate  stood.     Cans't  thou, 
85 


Ube  Battle  ot  Xife. 


Or  would'st  thou  pluck  from  off  His  brow 
The  crown  of  thorns  for  thee  He  wore — 

If  so  thou  couldst — this  very  hour? 
Thou  cans't  not.  And  yet  to  thee 
Some  part  is  given  in  that  great  tragedy. 

'Tis  thine  to  grieve,  'tis  thine  to  joy  ; 
To  grieve,  with  Him,  o'er  man's  employ 
Of  God's  best  gifts  for  self  alone, 
And  joy,  believing,  "  Thou,  Jesus,  cans't  atone. 

God's  word  is  not  a  wish,  a  hope  ; 
'Tis  truth,  and  life,  nor  need  we  grope 

In  darkness.     As  good  doth  evil  shun, 
Seek  ye  L,ight!   the  battle's  all  but  won. 
Wouldst  thou  a  teacher?     Art  young,  or  old, 
Or  wise  or  foolish,  yet  cans't  thou  be  told 
Whereof  'tis  good  to  know  ;   a  lesson  to  bestow 

Mayhap,  on  those  less  learned  than  thou, 
And  who  perchance,  doth  look  to  thee 
As  one  most  wise ;  and,  should  it  be, 

Should  it  be  thou  hast  mistaken  been  :— 
Wouldst  thou  a  teacher?     Take  Him ! 
He  alone  who  hath  the  battle  fought, 

And  conquering,  set  death  at  naught. 
Then,  and  not  till  then,  thoul't  see 
"Death  hath  no  sting,  the  grave  no  victory." 


86 


©ur  fallen  Comrades. 

(Response  to  Toast.) 

The  years  have  come,  and  gone. 
So,  too,  our  comrades,  one  by  one, 

Fall  by  the  wayside, 
Their  earthly  journey  run. 
The  ranks  grow  thinner,  here, 
As,  ever  and  anon,  over  some  new  made  grave, 

We  shed  a  manly  tear. 
Dushane,  Wilson,  Howard,  Allard  there, 
Graham  and  Bride — the  other  shore  ; 

Burns,  Rigby,  Watkins,  Adreon, 

Tyler  and  Wallace,  Denison, 
(Methinks  I  hear  their  voices  ring  again) 
Prentice,  Dodge,  Kenly! — noble  soul; 

So  swells  Death's  muster  roll. 
One  by  one,  and  year  by  year, 
"Old  Glory"  shrouding  the  bier  ; 
With  arms  reversed  ;  the  muffled  drum  ; 

So  are  they  borne  unto  their  rest 
To  sleep  till  angel  trumpet  blast 

Shall  call  them — Home. 

Our  comrades. 

Who  will  give  them  meed  of  praise? 
Is  it  yon  stone  we  seek  to  raise? 
'Twill  tell  perchance  where  once  they  stood, 

Stemming  the  tide  of  battle  flood  ; 
Aye  ;  mark  perchance  upon  yon  field 
87 


©ur  ffallen  Gomrafces. 


Where  they  might  die,  but  never  yield. 
And  yet,  all  this  were  vain  ;  apart  ; 
To  portraiture  the  patriot  heart. 

For  marble  bold,  nor  blazoned  gold, 

Historic  pen,  in  prose  or  rhyme 

Could  justice  mete  to  such  a  theme. 
The  chiseled  stone,  tho'  sculptured  fair, 
Is  cold;  and  of  the  life,  the  hopes  lie  buried  there, 

Can  at  the  best  but  tell 
That  on  some  day  he  fought,  and  fell, 

Who  sleeps  beneath, 

Tho'  crowned  mayhap,  with  victor's  wreath. 
Each  shaft,  its  finger  reared  against  the  sky, 
Dost  tell  how  brave  men  dared  to  die ; 

And  so,  their  story's  told. 

Comrades,  tho'  fitting  'tis  that  monuments  of  stone 
Should'st  tell  of  deeds  of  valor  done, 

Yet  do  stones  crumble,  lines  decay, 

Of  earth,  earthy,  fade  soon  away. 
Born  of  the  blood  of  patriot  sires, 
Graved  by  Him  who  e'er  inspires 

Man's  noblest  deeds  ; 
Thy  most  enduring  tablature  shall  be 
Thy  sons  !   to  whom  thou  teachest  Loyalty, 
Fraternity  of  heart  and  Charity  of  soul, 

And  who  in  turn,  while  ages  roll, 
To  sons  of  sons  transmit  the  holy  fire 
Served  thy  arm  to  nerve  ;  thy  heart  inspire. 

Thus  will  thy  patriotism  find  fit  reward, 

In  countless  freemen — praise  be  God, 

Shall  ever  bless  thy  name. 
88 


Ube  Bang^efc  Cob, 

©r :  Pegasus  TUnwingeJ). 
In  a  mining  camp  her  dad  slung  gin, 
While  her  mother  she  took  washing  in  ; 
They  dished,  and  slung,  and  washed  and  wrung, 
While  Mary  Jane  banged  her  hair  and  sung 
"I'm  tired  of  camp,  the  Heathen  Chinee, 

Heigho,  for  a  man  to  marry  me, 
Of  the  airystockracee." 

She  banged  and  she  sung  until  one  day 
Her  lover  "struck  tin"  and  then  away 
Flew  Mary  Jane,  her  bangs  and  all, 
And  sot  herself  down  near  old  Pall  Mall ; 
With  a  silver  mine  for  her  pass-key 
They  welcomed  her  into  societee, 
The  Hinglish  'stockracee. 

She  drank  champagne  and  London  fizz, 

And  all  the  time  with  an  eye  to  'bis, 

Her  weather  eye  was  on  gay  Paree, 

Says  Mary  Jane  "There's  no  flies  on  me ;" 
With  her  silver  stock  and  banged  hair 
She  set  the  pace  for  Vanity  Fair, 

For  the  dude  a 'stockracee. 

With  dukes,  and  lords,  and  ladies  gay, 
She  dined  all  night  and  slept  all  day  ; 
In  Rotten  Row  did  bow,  and  smile, 
Drove  a  four-in-hand,  and  set  the  style 

By  banging  her  horses,  tail  and  mane — 
To  match  her  hair,  did  Mary  Jane, 
Of  the  shoddy  'stockracee. 

89 


Gob. 


They  joined  the  train  of  the  "Silver  Queen," 
The  dudes,  and  snobs,  and  the  horse  marine  ; 
They  sawed  and  clipped,  some  short,  some  long, 
Till  horsehair  cushions  sold  for  a  song  ; 

Till  on  parade  one  could  only  see 

From  Kensington  to  Piccadillee 
A  dock-tail  cavallerie. 

The  price  of  "clips"  went  up  with  a  jerk, 
And  the  "My  turn  next"  cost  many  a  perk  ; 
The  poor  old  nags  might  groan  in  pain, 
The  horse-doctor  swore  by  Mary  Jane  ; 
Clipped,  and  sawed  in  fiendish  glee, 
Smothered  his  conscience  with  a  fee  ; 
The  "blawsted"  veterinaree.J 

And  that  is  the  way  the  "Hinglish"  cob, 
Became  the  fashion  with  every  snob  ; 
The  Old  Nick  was  in  it,  don't  you  see, 
And  sooner  or  later  he'll  get  all  three — 
The  doctor,  dude,  and  shoddy  Marie, 
And  the  re-tailed  nag  will  neigh  with  glee, 
As  they  waltz  down  to  Hade." 


90 


Ube  Hdanfcerer's  tReturn. 

(Founded  on  "Under  Two  Flags.") 

Across  old  Neptune's  wide  domain 

The  good  ship  wends  her  way; 
While  anxious  hearts  and  straining  eyes,  in  vain 

Have  throbbed  and  watched  this  many  a  day. 
Storm  after  storm,  storm  after  storm — 

Ivike  some  dread  demon  who  no  mercy  hath, 
Her  shattered  spars  and  battered  form 

Full  witness  give,  have  met  her  on  her  path. 

Still,  in  spite  of  renten  sail  and  shattered  mast, 

The  stout  old  hulk  hath  bravely  sped  ; 
Each  day  to  port  still  nearer  than  the  last, 

And  hopes  revive,  t'were  all  but  dead. 
The  staunch  old  tars,  whom  superstition  e'er  enfold, 

Again  their  quaint  old  songs  doth  sing ; 
E'en  grumbling  Jonah  (whom  all  ships  hold) 

Gives  way  at  last,  and  makes  the  welkin  ring. 

And  nearer  still,  and  yet  more  near. 

Ha!  what  is  that?     Yes  ;  it  is  the  land. 
"Land  ho !"  from  masthead  ;  and  a  joyous  cheer 

From  passengers  and  crew,  and  hand  clasps  hand. 
Aye,  all  are  glad  save  one  alone, 

'Midst  storm  or  sunshine,  still  the  same ; 
Unaltered  brow,  or  eye,  or  tone  ; 

No  home,  no  friends,  no  hopes,  no  name? 
91 


Marketer's  TReturn. 


The  question  put,  "A  passenger,"  he  said. 

"From  whence?"     "From  everywhere,"  reply; 
When  others  wept,  no  tear  he  shed  ; 

All  else  had  praj^ed  whilst  he  stood  calmly  by. 
Didst  question  him,  he  gazed,  no  more  ; 

Nor  answered  he  ;  save  bow  of  head  ; 
'Twas  gravely  done,  and  so  they  soon  forebore 

Their  questioning,  and  from  his  presence  fled. 

And  then,  as  storm  succeeded  storm, 

They  looked  on  him  with  superstitious  dread  ; 
The  anxious  mother  to  her  trembling  form 

Pressed  closer  still  her  darling's  precious  head. 
And  some  there  were  who  e'en  averred 

That  t'was  the  Evil  one  himself  on  board  ; 
Or  yet  the  "Flying  Dutchman," 

Whose  minds  with  tales  of  him  were  stored. 

A  grave,  stern  man,  whose  countenance 

Bespoke  the  dweller  in  an  Eastern  clime  ; 
An  eye,  whose  piercing  glance 

Spake  not  of  joys,  nor  yet  of  crime. 
His  hair,  now  slightly  tinged  with  gray, 

Told  of  raven  blackness  in  time  of  yore  ; 
Upon  his  stalwart  form  in  shining  folds  it  lay, 

Seemingly  proud  of  the  ownership  it  bore. 

So,  day  by  day,  until  at  last, 

That  first,  glad  shout  foretold  of  home; 
Of  kindred,  friends,  who  in  the  past 

They  left  behind,  in  other  lands  to  roam. 
Forgotten  now,  the  tempest  blast, 

Which  well  had  played  its  part ; 
Brightest  of  all  sunshine  reigned  at  last — 

The  sunshine  of  the  heart. 

92 


Ubc  Wan&erer's  IReturn. 


Forgotten  now,  by  all  around  him  there, 

With  firm,  unwearied  step,  the  deck  he  trod  ; 
No  cry  of  welcome  to  greet  him,  where 

The  past  lies  buried,  as  under  the  sod. 
Forgotten.     The  word,  by  chance  was  spoke, 

Falls  on  his  ear  like  death  knell  tone  ; 
He  starts,  as  thus  on  the  air  it  broke, 

And  echoed  it  softly,  with  low,  sad  moan. 

"And  can  it  be,  there  are  others,  too, 

Forgotten,  like  I,  midst  the  busy  throng  ; 
Mayhap,  like  I,  a  victim  through 

Another's  false  and  guilty  tongue? 
Shall  honor  still  forbid  the  speech 

Would  clear  of  guilt  a  tarnished  name? 
Or  yet,  still  stand  i'  the  deadly  breach 

And  die,  as  I've  lived,  forever  the  same?" 

I  heard  no  more,  yet  caught  the  gleam 

Of  a  struggling  soul  for  peace  and  right ; 
The  eye  grew  moist,  and  a  tender  beam 

Shone  in  the  stead  of  its  wonted  light. 
As  I  saw  him  mix  with  the  common  herd, 

A  noble  still,  whate'er  his  lot, 
My  heart  was  strangely,  deeply  stirred, 

And  I  kept  repeating,  "Forgot,  forgot." 

I  hear  him  still,  in  the  silent  night ; 

With  no  one  near,  I  see  his  form  ; 
Still  witness  the  struggle  'tween  might  and  right, 

And  honor  still  triumphs,  through  calm  and  storm, 
Go  on,  proud  heart ;  thy  time  shall  come  ; 

God  still  lives,  though  justice  flies  ; 
Through  trials  borne  the  victory's  won  ; 

The  body  may  perish,  the  soul  ne'er  dies. 

93 


Caves, 

NOTE:    Shenandoah,  in  the  Indian  tongue,  signifies  the 
Daughter  of  Stars. 

Out  from  Hillen,  while  the  ascending  sun 
Marks  but  a  space  of  his  journey  run  ; 
Over  the  mountains,  and  winding  down, 
Speeds  our  iron  steed  into  Hagerstown. 
Through  the  valley— "The  Daughter  of  Stars"— 
Where  was  wont  to  gleam  the  Stars  and  Bars  ; 
Over  the  river  and  through  the  dell 
Where  brave  men  fought,  and  heroes  fell  ; 
Without  thought  mayhap,  of  that  terrible  fray 
When  Sheridan  rode  to  save  the  day, 
Our  peaceful  party  entered  L,uray. 

Ay ;  peaceful  now,  that  vale  of  tears, 

As  changed  the  sword  for  the  reapers'  shears  ; 

The  upturned  sod  conceals  no  foe, 

But  from  every  hillock  the  harvest  glow. 

All  around  and  about,  a  nation  at  rest ; 

Peace,  plenty,  happiness ;  a  home  of  the  blest. 

This  what  we  saw  on  that  bright  June  day 

When,  over  the  mountains,  far  away, 

Our  peaceful  party  entered  lyiiray. 
In  passing,  we  gazed  on  scenes  that  mark 
A  nation's  history  ;  glorious,  lustrous,  sad,  and  dark  ; 
Of  which  the  pen,  in  rhyme  and  prose 
Curdles  the  blood,  or  warms  it,  as  it  flows  ; 
Of  savage  days,  when  the  white  man's  tread 
Echoed  not  oft  through  wood  or  glade  ; 
Days  when,  Colonial  rights  denied, 

94 


Ube  OLurap  Caves. 


Uprose  a  nation,  in  strength  and  pride. 
Of  this  we  thought,  on  that  bright  June  day 
When,  over  the  mountains,  far  away, 
Our  peaceful  party  entered  Luray. 

Climbing  the  ridge,  and  looking  down, 

Fair  Cumberland  vale  ;  hamlet,  and  town. 

Antietam  there,  a  cit}r  of  the  dead, 

And  Pack  Horse  Ford,  where  Lee  *once  fled. 

Where  Susquehannocks  and  Catawbas,  thrice  fifty 
years  ago 

Flashed   tomahawk  and  scalping  knife — a  bloody 
foe. 

Where  Ramsay,  on  fair  Potomac's  stream 

First  showed  the  world  a  vessel  drawn  by  steam. 

Of  this  we  thought,  that  bright  June  day 

When,  over  the  mountains,  far  away, 

Our  peaceful  party  entered  Luray. 
Where  Gates  and  Lee  once  lived  and  toiled ; 
Where  Stephens,  honored,  honor  soiled  ; 
The  Harewood  House,  where  Madison  did  wed  ; 
Where  Brown,  of  Ossawatomie,  unhap'ly  died; 
The  Greenway  Court  of  Fairfax'  days, 
And  memorable,  as  "Washington's  surveys;" 
Morgan's  "Saratoga,"  (of  'prisoned  Hessian  build, 
Of  which   'tis   said,    'they  builded  better  than  they 

killed')  ; 

Of  this  we  thought,  that  bright  June  day 
When,  over  the  mountains,  far  away, 
Our  peaceful  party  entered  Luray. 


95 


Ube  %urap  Caves. 


It  is  not  proposed,  in  prose  or  rhyme, 

To  tell  of  the  Caves  ;  I've  not  the  time. 

Between  you  and  me  (don't  speak  of  it  pray) 

Of  adjectives  I  lack,  to  clothe  L,uray. 

Of  its  wonderful  caverns,  no  pen  can  trace 

The  intricate  lines  ;  their  beauty,  and  grace. 

The  brush  of  the  artist  cannot  portray 

A  heavenly  scene  with  earthly  clay. 

But  we  saw  of  its  beauty  that  bright  June  day 

When,  over  the  mountains,  far  away, 

Our  peaceful  party  entered  L/uray. 


*" Light  Horse  Harry"  Lee,  of  the  Revolution. 


96 


Hmor  te  Salutat. 

(Acrostic.) 

Erato,  hither  bring  thy  lyre,  and  thou 
Mnemosyne,  do  thou  attune  each  string. 
Incline  thine  ear !     On  whom  she  honor  would  bestow, 

I/ove  to  their  nuptials  bids  thee  bring 
Your  sweetest,  most  melodious  song. 

Orpheus,  of  thy  lyre  hast  need.     Eurydice — 
Such  faithful  lovers  to  approve — 

Can  for  a  time  dispense  thy  ecstasy  ; — 
Away!   and  sing  (the  mortal  strains  above) 

"Rejoice!   Rejoice!   L,ove  crowns  the  choice." 

Uo  E  — B  — H. 

(Acrostic.) 

All  love,  all  honor  crown  thee! 
Nor  radiant  gem,  or  jewel  rare, 
Nor  costly  robe  or  flowers  fair — 

Endureth  for  a  space  ; 
The  diadem  thy  brow  doth  grace — 
Thy  womanhood — doth  so  outshine 
Ephemeral  fancies,  all  else  were  pygmean. 

Uo  a  Brioe  ano  (Broom. 

(Acrostic.) 

An  humble  offering,  a  gift  I  bring. 

Gold  give  I  not,  nor  silver,  curious  wrought, 
Nor  jewel  rare  ;  simply  a  wish,  a  thought. 

Upon  this  happiest  of  days — for  thee, 
So  may  it  prove,  unto  eternity, 

Love  shall  thy  pathway  strew. 
Ever  present  happiness,  ever  absent  sorrow, 

So  wish  I  thee  today  ;  tomorrow. 
Each  day  some  new  found  joy  bestowed,  until, 

Resting  in  Him,  thou'lt  find  the  measure  full. 

97 


TOnfielt*  Scott 
1bero  of  Santiago 


NOTE:  Sung  by  Dr.  B.  Merrill  Hopkinson,  at  the  banquet 
tendered  to  Admiral  Schley  by  the  State  of  Maryland,  at  the 
Hotel  Rennert,  February  28,  1899. 

(Tune:  Maryland,  My  Maryland.) 

A  cup,  a  cup,  a  beaker  full 

Maryland,  My  Maryland  ; 
A  toast,  a  toast,  with  right  good  will, 

Maryland,  My  Maryland  ; 
To  Sailor  Schley,  thy  gallant  son, 
Who  fought,  and  smote  the  haughty  Don, 
A  Nation's  heart  doth  thee  enthrone, 

Sailor  Schley,  of  Maryland. 

Assailed  the  flag  —  the  flag  of  Key, 

Mayland,  My  Maryland; 
Resplendent  then,  his  chivalry, 

Maryland,  My  Maryland; 
Who  breathed  with  Key  a  kindred  air  ; 
Of  Barney  learned  to  do,  and  dare; 
Nor  doubts  repel,  nor  fears  deter, 

Sailor  Schley,  of  Maryland. 

Of  valiant  heart;  of  modest  breath, 

Maryland,  My  Maryland; 
A  hero  —  earned  the  victor's  wreath, 

Maryland,  My  Maryland  ; 
98 


MfnfieU)  Scott 


The  battle  o'er,  behold  him  them! 
Quick  turns  to  share  the  laurels  won  ; 
7Tis  he  who  cries  "Well  done,  my  men  !" 
Gallant  Schley,  of  Maryland. 

Then  up,  fill  up!  fill  to  the  brim! 

Maryland,  My  Maryland; 
To  Sailor  Schley!  now,  with  a  vim! 

Maryland,  My  Maryland  ; 
A  loyal  friend — ask  Greeley  there ! 
A  manly  man,  in  peace,  or  war; 
From  truck  to  keel  a  gallant  tar, 

Sailor  Schley  of  Maryland. 


99 


H  iReminiscence, 

A  nightingale  once — in  generous  mood, 

To  a  little  brown  thrush  sat  by, 
Poured  out  her  soul  in  brightest  song — 

A  wondrous  melody ; 
And  the  little  brown  thrush,  in  gratitude 

Bethought  to  make  reply. 
Then  drooping  his  head,  sadly  said, 

"What  matters  my  song,  to  thine." 

Sang  the  nightingale,  so  sweetly  then 

To  the  little  brown  thrush,  her  friend, 
It  is  not  thy  notes,  or  mine  I  ween, 

May  count  the  most,  in  the  end  ; 
It  is  the  heart  whence  flows  the  notes 

That  makes  the  song  divine, 
And  your  note,  friend,  response  may  find 

Some  soul  may  deny  to  mine. 


So  sang  the  nightingale;  is  singing  still, 

Making  her  world  more  glad  ; 
Doth  she  ever  I  wonder,  think  of  the  thrush 

To  whom  she  sang — of  God? 
And  bade  him,  with  notes  the  Maker  gave, 

On  the  hill-top,  or  in  the  vale, 
To  sing  his  best!  since  'tis  all  He  asks 

Of  the  thrush  or  the  nightingale. 
100 


Welcome,  tbe  ^Baltimore! 

NOTE:  Written  on  the  occasion  of  the  Cruiser's  visit  to 
Baltimore,  May,  1890. 

Welcome  O  Ship !  our  Baltimore ! 

And  welcome,  Schley,  our  gallant  commodore. 

Welcome  thy  crew — the  manly  tars, 

Brave  defenders  of  the  Stripes  and  Stars — 

Thrice  welcome  all. 

Within  the  shadow  of  McHenry's  site, 
Where  thro'  the  darkest  hours  of  night 
Floated  the  ensign  loved  so  well 
By  Armistead  and  Key,  and  heroes  fell 

In  its  defense ; 

Here  in  the  waters  then  set  free, 
We  welcome  thee  with  "three  times  three," 
And  bid  thee,  for  the  name  you  bear, 
And  for  that  flag  still  waving  there, 

Ne'er  let  one  star  grow  dim. 
From  stem  to  stern  thy  plates  of  steel 
And  molten  ribs  a  strength  reveal 
Well  fit  to  stand  before  the  shock 
Of  battled  host;  or  e'en  to  mock 

Of  ocean's  fury; 

Yet  'tis  within,  where  dwells  the  patriot  heart 
And  where  each  man  performs  a  manly  part 
That  chiefest  strength  must  lie;  for  woe  betide 
That  ship  a  craven  soul  doth  hide  ; 

That  only  shows  an  outward  glory. 

101 


IKHelcome,  tbe  Baltimore! 


So  let  it  be  said  of  thee,  O  ship,  O  crew, 
Here  in  thy  home,  with  honors  thick  and  new 
Crowding  upon  thee;  that  come  what  may, 
At  home,  abroad,  in  peace  or  fray, 

E'er  did'st  thou  do  thy  duty. 
So  shalt  thou  an  honor  prove, 
Where'er  thy  flag  shall  wave  ; 
So  proud  shall  this  people  be — 
Watching  thy  course  on  every  sea — 

Thou  bear'st  our  name. 


102 


©ur  Baltimore, 

©r:  Gofc  Speefc  anD  Welcome  Home. 

NOTE  :  Sung  by  Col.  J.  Frank  Supplee  on  the  occasion 
of  the  formal  presentation — through  Secretary  of  the  Navy 
Tracey,  of  a  service  of  silver  to  the  Cruiser  Baltimore,  May 
20,  1892. 

(Tune:  My  Maryland.) 

A  pledge  to  thee,  a  pledge  to  thee, 

Baltimore,  our  Baltimore! 
A  bumper  full  and  flowing  free, 

Baltimore,  our  Baltimore! 
Where'er  thy  keel  shall  kiss  the  sea, 
Where  floats  the  flag  of  Schley  and  Key, 
Our  hearts  we  pledge,  our  faith  to  thee, 

Baltimore,  our  Baltimore! 

In  pledging  thee  a  "loving  cup," 

Baltimore,  our  Baltimore! 
We  pledge  to  thee  full  measured  up, 

Baltimore,  our  Baltimore! 
A  loyalty  the  graver's  art 
Could  ne'er  portray  or  pen  impart ; 
'Tis  shrined  within  each  patriot  heart, 

Baltimore,  our  Baltimore! 

In  naming  thee,  O  ship,  thy  name, 

Baltimore,  our  Baltimore! 
The  glory  shall  be  ours,  the  fame, 

Baltimore,  our  Baltimore! 

103 


©ur  Baltimore. 


For  well  we  know  thy  manly  tars 
Will  e'er  defend  the  Stripes  and  Stars, 
Till  sinks  beneath  the  wave  thy  spars, 
Baltimore,  our  Baltimore! 

So,  here's  to  thee,  O  gallant  ship, 

Baltimore,  our  Baltimore! 
As  passed  the  cup  from  lip  to  lip, 

Baltimore,  our  Baltimore! 
Where'er  thy  stem  shall  proudly  turn, 
'Mid  scenes  of    peace  or  war's  alarm, 
We  pledge,  "God  speed  and  welcome  home," 

Baltimore,  our  Baltimore! 


104 


IRacirema  to  Scblep. 

acrostic. 

Not  with  the  blast  of  the  trumpet, 

And  the  fan -fare  of  the  drum; 
Couch  we  instead  "Welcome  art  thou 

In  the  heart  of  a  Maryland  home." 
Rich  is  the  chaplet  we  offer — flowers 

Erstwhile  thy  coming  wert  born; 
Meet  for  thy  coming,  (of  parting  no  word) 

And  blooming,  thro'  night  unto  morn. 

The  flowers  we  offer,  are  friendship  ; 

Of  love  in  its  highest  aspire  ; 
Such  love  as  from  brother  to  brother, 

Cherished,  and  warmed  of  desire. 
Home-like  the  greeting,  of  home  ever  telling, 

IyO,  thou  art  here,  'tis  not  for  a  day  ; 
Enfant  d'Republique!  we  love,  we  adopt  thee, 

You  come,  you  remain;  are  of  us  alway. 
Baltimore,  June  15,  1899. 

Gocfe  TRobin— jflDooernisefc. 

Who  won  the  fight? 

"I,"  said  bold  Sampson;  I  laid  the  plan, 
Then  down  the  coast  ten  miles  I  ran — 
To  fool  the  Dons;  I  won  the  fight." 

Who  won  the  fight? 
Said  modest  Schley,  "I  saw  them  run  ; 
Then  were  the  ships  sunk  one  by  one, 
By  the  Man  behind  the  gun;  He  won  the  fight." 

105 


©ur  5Hero  Guest. 

NOTE:  Written  on  the  occasion  of  the  reception  to  Cap 
tain  N.  M.  Dyer,  of  the  Cruiser  Baltimore,  after  the  Victory  of 
Manilla  Bay. 

Hail  to  our  guest — a  seaman  brave, 

Maryland,  My  Maryland  ; 
Whose  shotted  guns  the  message  gave, 

Maryland,  My  Maryland  ; 
In  thunderous  tones,  and  o'er  again — 
While  hurtling  shell  didst  fall  like  rain, 
How  well  remembered  was  the  Maine 

Off  Luzon's  Isle,  My  Maryland. 

A  gallant  ship,  a  gallant  crew, 

Maryland,  My  Maryland  ; 
Was  thine  that  day,  and  Captain  too, 

Maryland,  My  Maryland ; 
A  Yankee  tar  (we  claim  him  son) 
Who  knows  no  State,  but  duty  done, 
Thy  galaxy  of  stars  O  Flag,  as  one, 

Flag  of  Key  ;  of  Maryland. 

"L,ead  thou  the  van" — the  signal  came, 
"Baltimore" — Our  Baltimore  ; 

Her  answer  sped — a  sheet  of  flame, 
Baltimore,  Our  Baltimore  ; 

And  where  she  led,  they  followed  on, 

The  bridge,  the  deck,  in  unison, 

True  hearts,  and  brave — American! 
One  and  all,  American. 
106 


©ur  ffiero  Guest* 


A  pledge  to  thee ;  O  gallant  ship, 
Baltimore,  Our  Baltimore; 

And  here's  to  thee,  our  guest  "Hip-hip, 
In  Baltimore,  Our  Baltimore  ; 

Hast  well  preserved  an  honored  name, 

New  lustre  wrought,  unto  her  fame  ; 

Now,  three  times  three,  with  one  acclaim, 
Our  hero  guest !  of  Maryland. 


107 


H  prediction  Derifiefc, 

NOTE  :  The  first  of  the  following  verses  is  from  the  song 
"Our  Baltimore,"  written  in  1892, 

(1892.) 
In  naming  thee,  O  ship,  thy  name, 

Baltimore,  our  Baltimore! 
The  glory  shall  be  ours,  the  fame 

Baltimore,  our  Baltimore! 
For  well  we  know  thy  gallant  tars, 
Will  e'er  defend  the  Stripes  and  Stars, 
Till  sinks  beneath  the  wave  thy  spars, 

Baltimore,  our  Baltimore! 

(1898.) 
The  prophecy  thou  has  maintained, 

Baltimore,  our  Baltimore! 
The  honor  of  thy  name  sustained, 

Baltimore,  our  Baltimore! 
The  flag  of  Key,  by  Dewey  borne, 
Floats  proudly  still  at  "early  dawn," 
Thou  hast  avenged  the  gallant  Maine, 

Baltimore ,  our  Baltimore! 


108 


Ube  "flDufc  Battle." 

(With  apologies  to  Tennyson.) 

NOTE:  The  Army  of  the  Potomac,  after  its  repulse  at 
Fredericksburg,  attempted  a  movement  above  the  town,  but  a 
most  terrific  rain  ensued,  completely  stalling  the  troops,  who 
could  only  move  at  all  by  building  corduroy  roads.  The  move 
ment  was  ever  afterwards  known  as  "Burnside's  Stick-in-the- 
Mud."  The  Confederates,  observing  the  situation,  made  much 
fun  over  it. 

Mud  to  the  right  of  them, 

Mud  to  the  left  of  them, 
Thro'  mud  in  front  of  them 

They  wallowed  and  floundered. 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 

Their  not  to  make  reply, 
Theirs  to  obey  ;  and  try  ; 

If  some  one  had  blundered. 
Theirs  was  a  sorry  plight, 

When  in  the  dead  of  night 
In  mud  most  out  of  sight — 

A  queer  sort  of  cuirass  ; 
When,  to  flank  "Johnnie  Reb" 

Stuck  fast  in  mud  were  they  ;  a  web, 
Spun  by  J.  Pluvious. 

Night  and  day  the  rain  came  down, 
Threatening  all  hands  to  drown, 

Still  did  the  trees  crack ;  and  groan. 
Miles  built  they  of  corduroy — 

All  who  could  an  axe  employ  ; 
Timber  enough  for  the  walls  of  Troy 

Felled  they  ;  that  day. 
109 


Ube  "/TCmfc  Battle/' 


Horses  reared,  snorted,  neighed  ; 

Mules  kicked,  bucked  and  brayed 
Men  shouted,  swore  and  prayed 

There  by  the  river ; 
All  were  of  a  color  then, 

The  on-foot  or  mounted  men, 
Not  much  of  "blue"  was  seen, 

But  mud  ;  mud  all  over. 
Seing  how  it  was  with  us 

"Johnnie  Reb"  grew  hilarious, 
While  our  boys,  more  furious — 

Kept  thus  at  bay. 
lyOth  to  give  up  were  they, 

None  could  doubt  their  bravery ; 
Battled  against  Fate's  decree 

While  of  hope  was  a  ray. 
Struggled  then  gallantly, 

If  hopelessly,  wretchedly, 
Never  yet  sullenly 

Those  brave  "Boys  in  Blue  ;" 
Till,  all  of  hope  faded, 

Back  to  camp,  tired  and  jaded, 
By  mud  alone  conquered, 

They  sadly  withdrew. 

*          *  *  * 

So  endeth  a  story 

Of  war,  without  glory, 
Some  may  have  thought ; 

And  yet,  never  men  battled 
Where  guns  roared  and  rattled, 

More  gallantly  wrought ; 
Than  when,  in  the  mire, 

Without  food,  without  fire, 
The  "Mud  Battle"  was  fought. 

110 


Bn  1ftn?U  ot  6rap  (Babies. 

(Respectfully  dedicated  to  Miss  Ruth  Cleveland.) 

Under  the  gables  gray, 
The  Bluebird  pipes  his  morning  lay. 
Under  the  lattice,  guarded  close 
By  trailing  vine  and  blushing  rose  ; 

Like  a  sigh  among  the  trees 
So  gently  swaying  in  the  breeze 
That  laughing  ventures  o'er  the  bay  ; 

Vieing  with  the  music  springing 
From  the  snow  crowned  breakers 
Tumbling  over,  over,  as  in  play  ; 
Whisp'ring,  rippling,  murm'ring,  cooing, 

Come  the  notes  of  tend'rest  wooing — 
"Ruth— Ruth!    Ruth— Ruth!    Ruth— Ruth!" 

Under  the  gables  gray. 

Night  falls.     The  gables  gray 
Look  grayer  still,  as  fades  the  day. 
Hushed  is  the  Bluebird's  song, 
Nor  bee  is  seen  the  flowers  among. 

The  low  of  kine,  the  tinkling  bell 
That  marks  their  passing  down  the  dell, 
And  deep'ning  shadows,  one  by  one, 

Doth  tell  the  day  is  done  ; 
While,  though  pulsing  still  against  the  shore 
The  very  breakers  seem  to  guard 
The  quiet  of  the  evening  hour. 

The  cricket  now  doth  own  thy  sway 
"Baby  Ruth  ;"  and  chirrups  softly 

Under  the  gables  gray. 
June  30,  1893. 

Ill 


(Bofc  IReicjns. 

In  Memoriam — Maltbie  Davenport  Babcock. 

He  was  a  man. 
A  leader  of  men,  his  work  was  wrought 

With  but  a  single  thought. 
For  him,  between  the  good,  and  ill, 
'Tween  wrong,  and  right,  there  ne'er  abode, 

Nor  could  there  be,  a  middle  road  ; 

His  only  guide,  his  Master's  will. 
Christ  the  exemplar,  the  pattern  of  his  life, 
"In  His  Name" — his  watchword  in  the  strife — 

Would  only  end  with  death. 
A  death,  akin  "the  swinging  of  a  door 
To  pass  from  room  to  room,"  no  more, 

Since  life  is  but  a  breath. 
He  counted  it — he  for  whom  we  grieve, 
lyife  was  but  a  span  ;   a  day  in  which  to  live 

As  if  no  other  day  would  come. 
His  motto,  "Do  it  now!"  was  never  put  aside 
To  wait  again  the  turning  of  the  tide  ; 

Some  star  in  heaven's  dome. 
We  grieve.     'Tis  true,  and  yet 
Why,  so  soon,  should  we  forget 

The  lesson  that  he  taught, 
Who  counted  death  only  a  stepping  stone 
Into  "the  life  ;"  the  cross  before  the  crown  ; 

Are  all  his  words  but  naught? 
We  who  loved  him,  are  we  to  now  rebel 
Against  God's  will,  and  murmuring,  tell 
112 


TReigns. 


His  teaching  was  in  vain? 
Or,  shall  we,  like  him,  beyond  the  tomb, 
Beyond  the  present  darkness,  and  the  gloom, 

Count  not  the  cost,  only  the  gain? 
As  falleth  the  sparrow,  so  he  fell. 
Are  we  to  question?  God  doeth  all  things  well 

God  still  doth  reign. 


113 


Sowing  tbe  Sect). 

A  handful  of  corn.     Do  you  think,  have  you  thought 
Of  the  wonderful  Providence  the  change  hath  wrought 
From  the  one  little  seed  planted  only  last  year 
To  the  gathering  in,  the  full  corn  in  the  ear? 
Only  one  little  kernel ;  yet  it  flourished  and  grew, 
In  God's  sunshine  and  rain — to  its  nature  proved  true — 
Until,  in  its  time,  as  the  harvest  drew  near, 
It  blossomed  and  bloomed  ;  the  full  corn  in  the  ear. 
With  its  tassels  of  gold,  the  silvery  sheen 
That  circles  it  round,  its  fringes  of  green, 
How  delighted  the  eye,  as  the  reapers  behold 
The  wealth  of  the  gath'ring,  its  treasure  untold  ; 
Forgetting  the  toil  in  the  pleasure  of  gain, 
The  handful  of  corn  from  the  one  little  grain. 
Only  one  little  word.    Do  you  think,  have  you  thought, 
Of  the  wonderful  harvest  a  word   hath  oft  wrought? 
Will  not  you,  as  His  child,  be  careful  to  give 
To  the  least  of  God's  creatures  full  measure  of  love  ; 
Watering  each  seed — the  fruit  of  your  heart — 
From  the  wellspring  of  kindness,  and  bid  it  depart 
On  its  errrand  of  mercy  in  the  field  of  earth's  strife, 
To  cheer  up  some  fainting  one  battling  for  life? 
Will  you  guard  God's  "acre"  and  free  it  from  tares  ; 
Uproot  each  foul  weed,  each  sin  that  ensnares  ; 
Of  envy  and  malice,  of  all  that's  not  true, 
And  do  unto  others  as  you  would  they  to  you  ? 
Dear  little  harvesters,  who  will  reap  as  you  sow, 
Remember,  'tis  seed  time,  not  always,  but  now ; 
Remember,  in  sowing  the  grain  that's  been  given 
Shall  come  the  full  ear,  in  the  garner  of  Heaven  ; 
That  'twill  blossom  and  bloom,  if  freed  from  sin'sthorn, 
From  the  one  little  kernel,  the  handful  of  corn. 

114 


/iDemorial 


"Nor  greater  love  than  this"  said  One, 

"Hath  no  man,  that  he  his  life  lay  down 
For  fellow  man."     And  here  they  lie  — 

Our  comrades,  this  greater  love  hath  shown. 
Ask  ye,  why  strew  their  graves  with  flowers? 

Ask,  why  God,  who  watches  over  all  things, 
Sends  down  to  earth  refreshing  showers 

To  bid  them  bud,  and  bloom  again  ; 
By  their  blest  presence  to  fragrance  shed 

Through  all  the  earth,  and  by  their  lives 
Example  give,  of  loyalty  to  self,  and  God. 

Love,  and  affection  to  flowers  are  kin. 

In  the  sunshine  of  God's  providence 
As  flowers  their  bloom  renew,  so  we  — 

Are  seedlings  of  His  hand,  admonished  are 
Of  what  is  due  to  kind  remembrance. 

'Tis  not  enough  to  bury  here  our  dead  ; 
They  are  not  like  some  great  stone 

Which,  from  the  mountain  height  o'erhead 
Comes  tumbling  down,  and  down 

Until,  amidst  the  thorns  and  briars 
It  lies  forgotten,  and  alone. 

From  immemorial  time  the  victor's  wreath 

Hath  crowned  the  living  hero. 
Are  they  not  victors  too,  who  fought,  and  died, 

Because  forsooth  —  the  battle  o'er  — 
115 


flDemorial 


'Tis  theirs  to  sleep  beneath  the  sod, 

Nor  wake  to  hear  the  deaf'ning  roar 
Greeting  the  living ;  they  on  the  other  shore? 

Whose  was  the  sacrifice?  Whose  the  gain? 
And  shall  we  then  the  less  loving  be 

Than  they  their  lives  laid  down,  for  victory? 
From  mountain  height,  across  the  plain, 

From  lake  to  gulf,  the  ocean's  span  ; 
Where'er  The  Flag  they  loved  doth  wave, 

From  loyal  hearts  the  answer  comes, 
Never  while  life  and  memory  reign 

Shall  they  forgotten  be.     Amen. 


116 


Uonigbt. 

(A  Song.) 

I'll  sing  to  thee  darling,  O  darling  tonight, 
When  the  moon  'cross  the  snow  sheds  gleamings  of 
light ; 

When  all  seems  dark  to  thy  weary  heart 
And  thine  eyes  grow  dim  as  the  tear  drops  start  ; 

Thy  burdens  forgot,  as  my  song  doth  requite, 
I'll  sing  to  thee  softly,  my  darling,  tonight. 

I'll  play  for  thee  darling,  O  darling,  tonight, 
Sweet  mem'ries  awaken  in  dreams  of  delight ; 

The  keys  of  thy  heart  shall  respond  to  my  call 
As  the  notes  on  thine  ear  shall  echoing  fall ; 

Thy  pleadings  my  soul  hath  caught  in  their  flight, 
I'll  play  for  thee  darling,  my  darling,  tonight. 

I'll  speak  to  thee  darling,  O  darling,  tonight, 
Soft  whisp'rings  of  love  on  thine  ear  shall  alight. 

That  hope  at  the  helm,  with  faith  for  thy  guide, 
Nor  storm  to  affright  thee,  nor  sorrow  betide, 

So  may'st  thy  life's  barque  ever  compass' d  aright 
So  speak  I  to  thee  darling,  my  darling,  tonight. 

I'll  pray  for  thee,  darling,  O  darling,  tonight, 
My  prayers  to  ascend  to  the  regions  of  light ; 

While  the  stars  far  above  their  watches  are  keeping, 
Grow  weary  mayhap,  of  watching  and  peeping, 

I'll  pray  that  thy  spirit  with  mine  may  unite  ; 
L<et  us  pray  then  together,  my  darling,  tonight. 

117 


IRo  Uborouabtare. 

(Dedicated  to  the  Corporation.) 

"Most  potent,  grave  and  reverend  seigniors," 
Ye  who  run  this  noble  borough, 

That  I  have  climbed  to  Chimney  Rock, 
It  is  most  true  ; 

But  Sirs,  the  way  I  very  much  did  rue, 
And,  it  doth  strike  me,  there  be  others  too 
Hath  broken  the  command  "Thou  shalt  not  swear,' 
Concerning  your  "No  Thoroughfare." 
Sirs,  perhaps  to  you  it  may  seem  ill 

That  I,  a  mere  sojourner, 
Aught  of  advice  should  proffer ; 
Yet,  as  I  have  climbed  the  hill, 

(And  conscience  still  doth  suffer) 
I  say,  and  deem  it  not  too  bold, 
Since  even  babes  and  sucklings  we  are  told, 
Some  wisdom  have  acquired  ; 
I  say,  it  seems  to  me  ye  are  too  tired 
Perhaps,  to  wear  your  glory  crown  ; 
In  fact,  its  light  art  fain  to  hide 
By  barring  up  the  mountain  side. 
Sirs,  most  humbly  would  I  counsel  Thee, 
(In  thy  cause,  O  beauteous  vale,  Monocacy) 
Away  with  bramble,  briar  and  brake, 
Give  us  a  pathway  please,  and  make 

A  journey  up  the  mount  a  pleasure ; 
So  shall  thy  fellow  man,  and  woman  too, 
Of  praise  give  thee  full  measure, 
And  visitors,  instead  of  hieing  to  confession, 
Will  wish  for  thee — Lifelong  commission. 

118 


,  60  Slow. 

NOTE:   "We  'uns  and  you  'uns" — the  old  army  term  as 
applied  to  Union  and  Confederate  soldiers. 

Steady,  my  boy,  steady! 
Th'  honor  o'  oP  Glory's  safe,  I  reck'n, 
An'  if  yer  don't  b'lieve  me, 
Jus'  keep  yer  eye  on  the  Cap'n.* 

In  '61,  when  men  met  men, 
He  wuz  one  o'  our  "Boys,"  yer  know — 
He  who's  hand  is  on  ther  helm  ; 
Reck'n  he  don't  fear  no  "Spanish"  row. 

"Honor  oP  Glory,"  yer  say. 
Mebbe  yer  think  he  don't  hold  dear 
Th'  flag  wuz  bathed  in  brothers'  blood  ; 
Wuz  wet  with  many  a  woman's  tear. 

Son,  louder  'n  th'  shriek  o'  fife, 
Or  roll  o'  drum,  th'  clash  o'  steel 
Or  cannon's  roar  ;  aye,  ev'n  o'er  th' 

Shout  o'  vict'ry  the  Cap'n  hears 
Th'  orphans'  cry,  the  widders'  moan, 
An' — long  o'  him — we,  too,  jus'  pray 
No  idle  word  may  plunge  us 

Int'  no  unrighteous  fray. 
I  tell  yer,  boy,  'taint  no  pag'antry  o'  war, 
Gay  trappin's,  music  and  prancin'  steeds, 

Glitt'rin'  arms  and  gal's  eyes 
As  we  look  at.     We've  b'en  thar! 

Many  a  year  ago,  fur  sure,  but 
119 


Bops,  Go  Slow. 


Time  don't  count  with  mem'ries 

Like  them!   Some  things  we  can't  forget. 

Four  years  we  marched,  an'  fought, 
An'  killed — aye,  boy,  an'  killed  ! 
Laid  homes  desolate,  an'  waste,  all 

Under  th'  ol'  flag  you  now  says 
It's  honor  is  at  stake.     Well,  we  know, 
I  reck'n,  as  much  'bout  that  as  you, 

An'  so  we  says,  "Boys,  go  slow!" 
Don't  need  no  chip  on  our  shoulder, 

I  take  it,  to  prove  our  grit ; 
Gettysburg  is  too  close  by,  an'  so's 
Antietam,  to  say  nuthin'  o'  Shiloh 
An'  lots  more  places,  too  num'rous 

T'  mention;  but  I  tell  you,  son, 
Th'  widder  an'  th'  orphan  aint  done 
Cryin'  yet!   an'  as  fur  graves, 
We  got  a  plenty  to  keep  green  ;   so, 
We  repeats  it,  boy,  jus'  you  keep  an 

Eye  on  the  Cap'n,  an  go  slow. 
If  he  says  so,  strike!   an'  strike  hard! 
An'  some  o'  "we  'uns  an'  you'uns,"  I  reck'n, 
Will  jine  ye.     That  so,  ol'  pard? 


*President  McKinlev. 


120 


Bllan  poe. 

(Dedicated  to  Sara  Sigourney  Rice.) 

The  man  is  a  profligate  sensualist, 
The  man's  life  a  reckless  debauch,  you  insist; 
Let  the  man's  life  be  all  that  you  will,  I  appeal 
The  man's  work  is  immortal — behold  it  and  kneel! 

— Owen  Meredith. 

O  slumb'ring  dead,  who  living  seemed 
For  fickle  fortune  destined  special  prey ; 
A  football,  plaything,  to  please  or  mock 
As  chose  her  varied  fancy  ;   a  favorite  of  a  day  ; 
Living,  thy  friends  (O  poor  humanity)  how  few 
Were  they  who  didst  believe,  confide  in  thee  ; 
Dead  ;   Thine  enemy  would' st  even  strive 
To  more  than  slay  ;  to  rob  thy  memory. 

Thy  faults !  Who  has  them  not? 

To  thee  O  charity,  I  would  their  keeping  give ; 

The  grave  should  hide  the  mortal  man  alone, 

Immortal  genius,  pure,  unsullied  live. 

0  man,  dost  make  thyself  a  God, 

To  judge  of  souls  with  thy  poor,  feeble  mind? 

Judge  ye  thyself  alone  ;  let  others  rest ; 

Leave  souls  to  Him,  the  maker  of  mankind. 

Justice,  though  late  oft  times,  is  never  dead  ; 
Sleeping  mayhap,  she  yet  awakes  at  last 
And,  like  a  giant  roused,  refreshed, 
O'er  rakes  the  ashes  of  the  living  past. 

121 


HUan  poe. 


As  in  the  crucible  the  gold  remains, 
So  from  justice'  eyes  flees  e'er  the  dross 
Of  calumnies  foul  tale,  leaving  naught 
Of  its  late  presence ;  or  its  loss. 

To  thee  O  city  of  his  birth,  and  death ; 
Who  knew  him,  loved  him  for  that  better  part, 
Thy  tribute  (unpretentious  though  it  be) 
Does  honor  to  thy  mind,  and  heart. 
And  thou  O  woman!   'Twas  thy  fitting  task 
To  clear  from  stain  his  genius  evermore 
Who  from  kind  Heaven  smiles  on  thee, 
As  stands  he  by  his  "Lost  Lenore." 


122 


Sbam  Battle. 

At  Pimlico,  in  the  mud  and  rain, 

The  boys  they  "cut  and  come  again," 

While  the  band  played  "Maryland,  my  Maryland." 

Brave  Paine  was  there — as  gallant  Sam, 

And  Gibson,  as  Strieker,  who  didn't  care  a 

Picayune  for  all  the  crowd  who  came  that  day 
When  Cockburn  swore  so  recklessly, 
As  he  sailed  up  Ches'peake  bay. 
Wardwell  was  there,  and  Love  and  'Kenny  White, 
My  Maryland's  proud  quota,  and  gun  and  sabre  bright ; 
With  Wilmer,  Woolford,  Carpenter  and  brave  Magee, 
Nulton,  too,  and  Livingston  and  chivalrous  Pearre. 
The  Old  Dominion  sent  her  men, 

As  she  did  in  days  gone  by, 
Side  by  side  with  the  boys  from  Del.  and  Penn., 

Resolved  to  do  or  die. 

"And  what  of  the  foe  who  so  vauntingly  swore 
A  home  and  a  country  they'd  leave  us  no  more  ?" 
Gaither  was  there — a  redoubtable  Brook — 

And  Marshall  and  Moore  and  Crim ; 
Turnbull  and  Oyster  and  Waters  there, 

And  Stokes  and  Supplee,  neat  and  trim. 
Boykin  and  Riggs  and  Carey  and  Gray, 

And  Dalton  and  gallant  Brown  ; 
And  the  Eagle  skrieked  and  the  Lion  roared, 

E'en  while  the  rain  poured  down. 
123 


Sbam  Battle, 


Bravely  the  red-coats  fought  and  fell, 

And  who  will  say  me  nay 
That  they  wasted  more  powder  than  e'er  did  Ross? 

In  his  battle  down  the  bay. 
But,  as  it  was  ordered,  they  fought  and  ran, 

And  the  Ljon  roared  in  vain  ; 
And  the  Eagle  shrieked,  at  Pimlico, 
As  the  boys  marched  home  again. 
Baltimore  September  12,  1889. 


124 


flu  /iDemoriam. 

(Written  on  the  death  of  John  L.  Thomas,  Esq.) 

Autum  leaves  are  falling,  falling, 
Radient-hued,  to  earth  returning. 

Life  ;  death  ;   'tis  but  a  span  ; 
But  O  how  beautiful  the  transition; 
The  bud — the  promise  ;  full  fruiton. 

Why  should  we  mourn? 

Did  not  thy  life  the  earth  adorn? 
Shall  not  the  tree  again  put  forth 
Its  bud  and  bloom  in  glad  new  birth? 
T'is  meet,  indeed,  to  drop  a  tear 
Over  the  bier ; 

But  there  be  tears  of  sorrow,  and  of  joy, 
And  of  a  life,  O  friend,  like  thine, 
Wherein  was  naught  of  dross,  or  base  alloy, 

Such  lessons  do  we  learn 

How  best  to  serve  our  kin, 
That  in  the  joy  that  thou  hast  been, 
And  in  the  thought  thou  shall  His  glory  see 
W7hose  precepts  were  thy  guide, 
Lost  is  Death's  sting,  the  grave  its  victory. 


125 


ffiow  Sleep  tbe  Brave, 

How  sleep  these  brave  ? 
Why,  o'er  yon  lowly  grave 

Strew  we  these  flowers? 
Why,  of  all  these  silent  dead, 
Above  whose  forms  we  lightly  tread, 

Why  call  we  them  alone,  ours? 
Why  plant  we,  on  their  resting  place, 
(Whom  from  our  hearts  naught  can  efface) 

The  flag  we  love  so  well? 
Are  they  of  kindred  so  dear 
That,  with  each  recurring  year 
On  them  alone  our  memories  dwell? 

Nay  ;  yet  in  our  hearts  they  live, 
Commanding  honors  we  are  prone  to  give 

Alone  to  them ; 

Aye,  honored  are  they,  and  e'er  will  be 
While  floats  yon  flag — emblem  of  the  free, 

A  Nation's  diadem. 

Ours?     Are  they  ours,  or  we  theirs? 
Turn  thou  a  moment  from  other  cares 

And  thoughts,  the  query  ponder. 
Consider  the  service  each  the  other  gave  ; 

Either  the  creditor's  here,  or  in  yon  grave 
Cans't  say  the  debtor's  yonder? 

Some  fought  with  the  pride  of  youth  ; 
Others,  with  firm  conviction  of  the  truth 
126 


5How  Sleep  tbe  Brave. 


That  Right  must  e'er  prevail. 
One  common  thought  possessed  them  all — 
The  thought  no  foe  nor  danger  can  appal, 

Nor  yet  successfully  assail. 
Love  of  country.     Can'st  gauge  the  power 
Before  which  true  men  bow,  and  traitor's  cower  ; 

This  was  their  armor  bright  ; 
Of  such  their  love,  and  truth  and  faith — 

They  who  lie  here ;  who  met  death, 
Rather  than  Might  should  conquer  Right. 


127 


A  Song  of  Triumph. 
(Air — "  Maryland,  My  Maryland.") 

(1776.) 
When  first  thy  soil  invaders  trod, 

Maryland,  My  Maryland  ; 
Their  blood  outpoured  upon  the  sod, 

Maryland,  My  Maryland  ; 
Thy  sons  a  heritage  bequeathed, 
(None  fairer  hath  the  world  achieved), 
And  sons  of  sons  thy  name  hath  breathed, 

lovingly,  "My  Maryland." 

(1812.) 
Nor  quenched  the  light  upon  thy  shore, 

Maryland,  My  Maryland ; 
When  Cockburn's  guns  did  belch  and  roar, 

Maryland,  My  Maryland ; 
The  Briton's  steel  with  steel  was  met, 
McHenry's  flag  gleamed  brighter  yet 
As  fled  the  foe — with  sail  full  set — 

Maryland,  My  Maryland. 

(1861.) 
Dear  Maryland!   thou  sore  wert  tried, 

Maryland,  My  Maryland ; 
When  brothers  warred — in  all  their  pride, 
Maryland,  My  Maryland  ; 
128 


A  mother's  grief  possessed  thee  then, 
A  mother's  love,  for  sons  were  slain ; 
They  died,  but  honor  didst  retain! 
Maryland,  My  Maryland. 

(1896.) 
And  once  again,  yea,  even  now, 

Maryland,  My  Maryland  ; 
A  garland  fair  doth  deck  thy  brow, 

Maryland,  My  Maryland* 
Behold  the  victory  peace  hath  wrought ! 
(Nor  less  renowned,  with  ballots  fought) 
God  bless  thy  choice,  thy  wisdom  sought, 

Maryland,  My  Maryland, 


*Voted  for  the  Gold  standard. 


129 


is 


'Little  Boy,"  my  wee  wife  called  me, 

Long,  long  years  ago  ; 
A  bearded  boy,  e'en  then,  I  do  assure  thee, 

Long,  long  years  ago  ; 

And  some  folks  smiled  to  hear  such  greeting, 
As  she,  upon  her  tip-toes  meeting 
The  kiss  I  gave  her  ever  welcoming, 

Called  me,  her  "Little  Boy." 

Years  ago?  Aye,  but  just  how  many,  or  few, 

I  do  not  choose  to  say. 
Time  enough  howe'er,  some  power,  'tis  true, 

Raven  locks  have  turned  to  gray. 
Enough,  to  say  our  "bairns"  have  grown 
Until,  into  their  eyes  —  when  met  her  own  — 
Wee-  wife  looks  up,  while  they  look  down  ; 

Still,  "Little  Boy"  she  calls  me. 

The  years  have  brought  both  joy  and  sorrow, 

As  we  traveled  on  ; 
Clouds  today,  and  sunshine  on  the  morrow, 

As  we  traveled  on  ; 

What  matter  if,  along  with  love's  caresses 
Come  furrowed  brows?  and  silvered  tresses? 
Winter  strips  the  trees  of  Springtime  dresses, 

Yet  are  they  donned  again. 

130 


is  J£\>er 


We  have  had  our  stress  of  pain, 

As  we  traveled  on  ; 
Submissive,  to  the  Power  didst  so  ordain, 

As  we  traveled  on. 
Not  forgot,  the  pain,  and  sorrowing, 
But,  from  love  full  measure  borrowing; 
Hand  in  hand  makes  pleasant  journeying 

As  we  travel  on. 

Accounting  time  in  truest  measure, 

As  we  travel  on  ; 
Time  to  love — life's  best  treasure, 

As  we  travel  on  ; 
No  older  are  we  now,  than  when 
Callow  youth  was  I,  and  she  a  maiden  ; — 
Time  keeps  no  score  with  Love,  I  reckon, 

I/ove  is  ever  young. 


131 


Gbristmas. 

What  more  pleasant  at  Christmas  tide 

Than  thoughts  of  our  own  bright  youth  ; 
When  our  stockings  we  hung  at  chimney  side, 

And  Saint  Nick  was  no  myth,  forsooth. 
As  we  thought  then,  our  child  thinks  now, 

We  but  change  places  with  them  ; 
The  wisdom  of  youth  is  but  folly,  I  know, 

But  more  so,  man's  "might  have  been." 
'Twere  folly,  indeed,  if  age  brings  naught 

But  a  temper  soured  with  care  ; 
No  tender  chord  for  the  past,  but  fraught 

With  the  present  alone  ;  of  self  only  aware. 
Our  children's  joys  should  be  our  own  ; 

Of  sorrow  too  soon  will  they  taste  the  sting ; 
lyet  them  sip  of  the  pleasures  we  have  known  ; 

Old  age  may  weep,  but  youth  should  sing. 
Then  let  us  not  forget,  my  friend, 

That  Christmas  tide  is  near  ; 
And  forget  not,  too,  to  make  amend 

To  Him  who  loves  them  dear ; 
Who  tells  us  of  His  Kingdom,  they, 

These  children  whom  we  love, 
On  whom,  while  in  His  arms,  did  pray 

His  Father's  blessing  from  above. 

Then  hang  up  your  stocking,  little  one, 

For  Santa  Claus  is  near  ; 
While  you're  asleep  his  work  is  done. 

132 


Gbristmas. 


And  well  done,  too,  once  in  each  year. 
He  knows  just  what  to  give  you,  too, 

Isn't  it  strange?  you  say; 
How  to  replace  old  toys  with  new  ; 

I  guess  he  was  a  boy  himself,  one  day. 
Perhaps  he  heard  you  tell  mamma 

What  you  would  like  this  year  ; 
If  so,  I'm  sure  she  told  papa, 

And  then  you'll  get  it,  never  fear. 
For  Santa  Claus,  I'm  very,  very  sure, 

I/oves  all  you  children,  the  good,  the  best  ; 
He  brings  his  gifts  to  rich  and  poor, 

And  greets  them  all  with  a  merry  jest. 
With  a  bound  and  hop  up  he  pops 

The  chimney  stack  while  you're  asleep  ; 
Fills  each  little  sock,  and  never  stops, 

That  all  may  laugh,  that  none  may  weep. 
So  hang  up  your  stockings,  little  one, 

For  Santa  Claus  is  near  ; 
When  you  awake,  his  work  is  done  ; 

He  will  bring  you  all  good  cheer. 


133 


Uot, 
limbo  Sucfes  Bis 

(Song.) 

Did  you  ever  know  a  little  tot 
Who  howled  with  all  his  might ; 
Whom  nothing  you  could  do  would  please 
If  "Ma"  was  out  of  sight ; 
Have  you  tried  your  level  best  in  vain, 
Till  you  were  tired  and  glum, 
To  soothe  that  chap  who  never  learned 
To  substitute  his  thumb. 

CHORUS. 

Soothing  syrup,  patent  food, 
Sugar  coated  pills  ; 
Homeopath  or  Allopath 
Castor  oil  or  squills  ; 
Paregoric,  roots  or  herbs, 
When  they  are  troublesome, 
They  all  get  dosed  but  Pap's  own  boy- 
The  tot  who  sucks  his  thumb. 

You  may  try  to  coax  the  little  man, 

May  let  him  pull  your  hair, 

Or  for  your  "tootsy  wootsy"  boy 

Play  kangaroo  or  bear  ; 

You  may  let  him  "see  ze  w'eels  go  wound" 

Or  bang  upon  the  drum  ; 

He'll  yell  for  mamma  all  the  while 

Unless  he  sucks  his  thumb. — CHO. 
134 


Ube  Uot. 

You  may  talk  about  your  cure-for-all's, 

It  is  a  pleasant  dream ; 

We  see  'em  posted  everywhere, 

An  advertising  stream  ; 

Of  all  the  ills  the  babe  is  heir 

They  may  be  good  for  some, 

But  while  he's  waiting  for  his  Ma, 

There's  nothing  like  his  thumb. — CHO. 


135 


Ube  IDeterans' 

(Tune:   Red,  White  and  Blue.) 

Columbia,  thy  children  are  calling, 

Are  calling  from  hillside  and  plain, 
The  voice  of  the  nation  out-ringing, 

"Avenge  thee,  avenge  thee  the  Maine!" 
Bereft  of  their  lives  without  warning, 

Our  brothers,  so  gallant  and  true, 
"Arouse  thee ! ' '  the  crj^,  and  "Avenge  them ! ' ' 
Who  died  for  the  Red,  White  and  Blue. 

CHORUS. 
Three  cheers  for  the  Red,  White  and  Blue,  &c. 

Our  Comrade — thou  Head  of  the  Nation, 

We  love  thee,  thy  station  revere  ; 
We  pledge  thee  a  steadfast  devotion, 

Thro'  trials  thou'rt  called  on  to  bear. 
Thou  knowest  of  old  "The  Grand  Army," 

Who  e'er  to  their  colors  proved  true, 
We  counsel  not  war,  but  are  ready 

To  die  for  the  Red,  White  and  Blue.— CHO. 

A  country  united  we  pledge  thee, 

We  pledge  thee  "The  Blue"  and  "The  Gray," 
The  West  and  the  East,  the  proud  Southland, 

The  Northmen  we  pledge  thee  for  aye. 
One  heart  and  one  hand  we  thee  offer, 

While  here  we  our  pledge  now  renew, 
Our  fealty,  Columbia,  forever ; 

Three  cheers  for  the  Red,  White  and  Blue. — CHO. 

136 


(Bootmess  fiever  H>ies. 

Suggested  by  the  tablet  In   Memoriam  to  Mrs.  Isabella 
Brown. 

Within  God's  house,  upon  the  wall 

I  saw  a  tablet — white,  and  pure, 
And  graved  thereon  (translated) 

"Her  life's  work  doth  endure." 
I  closed  mine  eyes  ;  and  blotted  out 

Were  words,  and  marble  ;  riven 
And  crumbled  to  dust ;  naught  remained 

Of  tribute  man  had'st  given. 
And  yet  again  (as  in  a  dream)  beheld 

I  then  the  record — white,  and  pure, 
Upheld  by  angels,  in  a  Book  of  Gold, 

"Her  life's  work  doth  endure." 
*  *  * 

Perished  are  the  things  of  earth. 

In  the  balance — God's  scale — 
Goodness  outweighs  a  Croesus'  wealth. 

Riches,  and  power  of  naught  avail 
When,  with  the  record  thou  hast  made, 

Thou  comest  to  thy  last  abode. 
Well,  well  shall  it  be  with  thee 

If  there  be  writ  "Little  had  he, 
But  what  he  had,  he  gave  to  God." 


137 


jforwarfc!  Comrades. 

(Tune:    "Onward  Christian  Soldier,") 

Forward!   Comrades,  forward, 

Marching  as  of  yore, 
With  "Old  Glory"  waving 

Ever,  as  before ; 
Elbow  touching  elbow, 

As  the  years  roll  on  ; 
Comradeship  ne'er  failing, 

Love  the  stronger  grown. 

CHORUS. 
Forward,  Comrades,  &c, 

Forward,  was  our  motto, 

Onward,  ever  on, 
Where  the  path  of  duty 

Called  for  val'rous  men  ; 
Where  our  standard,  waving, 

Glistened  in  the  sun, 
Lighting  up  the  darkness, 

When  the  way  seemed  vain. — CHO. 

Men,  who  fought,  and  conquered, 
The  goal — a  Nation's  life  ; 

Courage  never  fait' ring, 
Waging  noble  strife  ; 

138 


jforwarfc!  Comrafces. 


Comrades,  brave  and  loyal, 

Comrades  ever  true, 
One  in  heart,  and  purpose, 

We  were  "Boys  in  Blue."— CHO. 

Crowned  at  last  with  vict'ry, 

We  are  home  once  more  ; 
Brothers,  reunited, 

Ne'er  again  to  war  ; 
Side  by  side  now  standing, 

They  who'  dare,  beware! 
'Ware  the  Eagle's  talons! 

Touch  not  stripe,  nor  star! — CHO. 

We  are  in  the  gloaming, 

Waiting  dawn  of  day, 
To  join  our  Comrades  yonder 

Fearing  not  the  way  ; 
Where  the  Great  Commander, 

Still  will  lead  us  on, 
Saying  "Comrades,  forward! 

Welcome  'Boys,'  well  done!" — CHO. 


139 


©ur  jfirst  Born, 

How  is't  my  step's  more  light, 

And  eye  more  bright  than  wont  to  be, 

Is  that  your  question  ? 
Ah,  then,  you've  not  heard  the  news, 
Or  surely,  you'd  not  ask,  but  know 

The  reason. 

We've  a  new  joy,  little  mother  and  I, 
A  little  one,  surely,  but  then  you  know, 

It  fills  our  hearts. 

The  cup  was  full — between  us  two — before. 
And  so,  ever  so  little  was  quite  enough 

To  run  it  over. 

We've  not  many  riches,  little  mother  and  I, 
But — between  you  and  me — riches  are  less 

Than  this  new  joy. 

'Tis  singular,  mayhap,  but  yet  'tis  true, 
With  every  day  it  creeps  closer  in — 

Between  us  two. 

Oh,  you  guess  what  it  is,  do  you? 
Well,  then,  there's  no  need  to  tell, 
But  I  will  say,  that  mother,  and  baby 

Are  both  very  well. 


140 


^Firemen,  TKHell  Done! 

(Dedicated  to  the  Baltimore  Fire  Department.) 

A  cheerless  night.     The  rain, 
Driven  by  the  wind,  beats  fitfully 

On  roof,  and  window  pane. 
Streets  are  deserted,  save  here  and  there 

Some  flitting  figure  that, 
Breasting  the  storm  in  busied  care 

Which  brooks  not  of  delay, 

Doth  shelter  still  forbear. 

The  lights  are  dim  ;  fiercer  the  blast. 
Tangled,  and  twisted  by  the  gale, 

The  clustered  wires  (like  angry  harp 
Whose  strings  some  mighty  hand  doth  smite) 
Give  forth  a  wail  the  air  doth  fright, 
And  then,  upon  the  darkness  of  the  night 

An  hundred  spears  of  light ; 
Striving  for  mastery. 

On  sweep  the  flames. 
Fed  by  the  wind,  (a  giant  bellows) 

They  higher,  higher  rise, 

Illumining  the  skies, 
While  myriad  shoots — madly  afright, 

Displace  the  stars  of  night. 

Hark !   From  out  the  walls 
Which  yonder  lie,  what  cry  is  that  appals? 

"The  jail!    The  jail's  on  fire!" 
Five  hundred  souls  are  there  ; 
141 


^firemen,  TKflell  Done! 


What  should  it  prove  their  funeral  pyre? 
Imprisoned,  barred  with  lock  and  key, 

O  God !   and  can  it  be 
'Tis  thus  they're  doomed  to  die? 

Hail!  noble  hearts,  'twas  bravely  done. 
Thro'  fire,  and  smoke,  as  stroke  on  stroke 

Proclaims  of  victory  won  ; 
No  thought  of  self  didst  dominate, 

Thine  arms  to  enervate. 

Blow  on  blow.     The  ponderous  lock, 
Nor  bolt  or  bar  survive  the  shock. 
Before  the  axe  wide  flies  each  door, 
Out  from  their  prison  cell  they  pour, — 

God's  children,  all, 
If  even  so  some  knew  him  not, 

In  that  dread  hour. 

Frenzied  of  fear,  some  call  His  name, 
As  nearer  rolls  the  seething  flame 

That  threatens  them  with  death  ; 
Heart-rending  cries,  to  God,  and  man  ; 

Prayers  ;  curses  ;  pandemonium. 
Blow  on  blow ;  still  on,  and  on — 
While  yet  remains  imprisoned  one — 
While  yet  thy  chief*  (in  foulest  canopy) 
Falls  prone,  bereft  of  sensibility  ; 

On,  and  on,  still  on  ye  pressed 
Till  all  (save  one)  the  holocaust 

Doth  'scape,  and  he — 
Blinded  of  fate,  leaps  to — eternity. 

•fC  2|C  SjC  !f! 

142 


jfiremen,  IKRell  3>one! 


Thank  God!     And  ye,  O  noble  souls, 
Who  know  not  self,  when  danger  calls  ; 
Thank  God,  thy  heart  thy  arm  doth  nerve 
To  manly  deeds — thy  fellows  so  to  serve. 

Firemen,  well  done! 
^Assistant  Chief  Dunn. 


143 


The  gate  ajar,  I  entered, 
And,  standing  within  the  Kirk-yard 
And  'neath  a  broad  spread  oak 

Had  sheltered  many  who, 
From  following  some  had  passed  beyond, 

Came  once  again,  unknowingly, 

To  such  sweet  place  of  rest, 
I  gazed  about  me. 
Upon  the  highest  mound,  and  rich 
In  all  the  lavish  treasure  of  the  sculptors  art ; 
Graved  deep,  line  upon  line 
Telling  of  him  who  slept  beneath  ; 
Of  the  coming,  and  the  parting,  death  ; 

Of  birth,  and  ancestry  ; 
The  life  which,  (if  no  lie  be  told) 
Had  much  contained  all  men  might  emulate  : — 
There  stood  a  monument. 

The  while  I  gazed, 

With  faltering  step,  and  deep  humility, 
Another  came  ;  and — nor  pausing 
One  poor  glance  even  to  bestow 
Toward  the  spot  had  caught  my  fancy — 

Passed  on,  and  on,  until 

(I  knew  not  why  my  sight  seemed  so  enchained) 
I  saw  her  reach  a  lowly  mound 
And  kneeling,  with  feeble,  loving  hand 
Didst  turn  aside  a  creeping  vine 

144 


Hadst  all  but  covered  one  dear  name. 

Lingering,  I  scarce  knew  why — 
Except  respect  to  such  a  presence — 
Aside  her  footsteps  turned, 
I  too  didst  kneel  beside  the  mound  ; 

Reverently,  with  tender  touch  I  turned  aside 

The  lowly  vine,  and  read — 
'Twas  fashioned  homely  there — 
'Loving  God,  He  Lived,  and  Died." 


145 


Bivouac. 

'Tis  night.     The 'battled  host, 

Wearied,  footsore,  in  sleep  is  lost. 

All  save  the  guard,  who,  the  smouldering 

Watch  fires  gathered  round, 
Are  silent  all,  to  catch  each  sound. 
Ivong  and  toilsome  hath  been  the  way, 
Doubly  welcome  the  close  of  day  ; 
And  'morrow's  dawn,  albeit  so  near 
Is  yet  far  off — to  him  lies  sleeping  there. 
Sleeping,  dreams  he  of  home,  and  friends, 
Of  those  he  loves  ;  of  peaceful  ends. 
Dreams  mayhap,  of  war,  a  soldier's  fame ; 
Glory;  honor;  death;  shame. 
Dreaming,  he  wakes  to  find  it  but  a  dream, 
And  sleeping,  sleeps  but  to  dream  again. 
Breaks  on  his  ear — "Time  for  relief!" 
O  blest  (or  wretched)  hour,  how  brief 
Hath  been  thy  passing — to  him  ; 
And  yet,  who  is't  could  limn 
With  brush  or  pen,  its  history? 
The  fashioning  of  sleep's  dark  mystery? 
So  passes  night ;  the  only  sound 
The  tramp  of  guard  the  camp  around, 
Or  mayhap,  the  sentry's  "Who  goes  there!" 
Falling  quick  and  sharp  on  the  startled  air, 
As  on  and  on  adown  the  line — 
Exchanging  now  and  then  the  countersign — 
Goes  the  relief  ;  and  then — 
"All's  well :"  The  camp  doth  sleep  again. 

146 


Dtve  la  Bops  in  JSlue. 

(Song.) 

Let  every  old  Veteran  fill  up  his  cup, 

Vive  la  Boys  in  Blue  ; 
Let  the  toast  go  round  while  we  merrily  sup, 

Vive  la  Boys  in  Blue  ; 

To  the  Stars  and  the  Stripes !  flag  of  the  free  ; 
Flag  that  with  Sherman  marched,  triumphed  o'er  Lee  ; 
Nailed  to  the  mast,  conquered  at  sea  ; 

Flag  of  the  Boys  in  Blue. 

Our  might  was  the  Right  as  we  struck  ev'ry  blow, 

Vive  la  Boys  in  Blue  ; 
Nor  faltered  till  conquered  we  ev'ry  armed  foe, 

Vive  la  Boys  in  Blue  ; 

Till  the  Stars  and  the  Bars,  swept  from  the  wave ; 
From  the  Lakes  to  the  Gulf,  freed  ev'ry  slave  ; 
Thy  stars  "Old  Glory,"  new  lustre  gave — 

Flag  of  the  Boys  in  Blue. 

When  their  arms  were  laid  down  remembered  we  then, 

Vive  la  Boys  in  Blue  ; 
Our  brothers  of  old  were  our  brothers  again, 

Vive  la  Boys  in  Blue  ; 

"With  malice  to  none"  then  gave  them  our  hand, 
Who  had  loved  them  of  yore,  loving  our  land  ; 
Foes  never  more  ;  ever  to  stand 
All  of  us  Boys  in  Blue. 
147 


IDive  la  Bogs  in  Blue, 


Then  ev'ry  old  Veteran  fill  up  his  cup, 

Vive  la  Boys  in  Blue  ; 
I^et  the  pledge  go  round  as  we  cheerily  sup, 

Vive  la  Boys  in  Blue  ; 

To  the  Stars  and  the  Stripes !  flag  ever  dear ; 
To  the  Union  we  saved !  L,ives  we  revere ! 
Maryland's  Sons!  join  ye  the  cheer — 

Flag  of  the  Boys  in  Blue ! 


148 


fl&ofcern  H)at>it>. 

(Political.) 

The  dearest  spot  on  earth  to  me 

Is  Hawaii,  sweet  Hawaii ; 
Its  vine  clad  hills  of  emerald  green, 
Its  deep  blue  sky,  the  silver  sheen 
Tossed  high  in  air  where  breakers  roll 

Against  the  cliffs  ;  sweet  music  to  my  soul ; 
The  song-birds'  notes,  set  all  attune 
I/ike  lovers'  hearts  in  fond  commune  ; 

I  close  mine  eyes  and  sing  to  thee — 
Thou  dearest  spot  on  earth  to  me  ; 

0  Hawaii,  dear  Hawaii. 

'Twas  thus  the  modern  David  sang, 

Of  Hawaii,  fair  Hawaii ; 
Ere  yet — for  him — King  William's*  mien 
Entranced  his  sight ;  Nebraska  rolled  between  ; 
Ere  yet  had'st  learned  another  song, 

(The  plaudits  echoed,  loud  and  long) 
That  as  Prince,  'twas  his  to  plead 
'Gainst  kingly  bent,  and  royal  greed; 

To  William  knelt,  on  bended  knee 
Didst  sing  ' '  Take  thou  the  crown  O  King !  to  thee 

1  give  my  Hawaii,  dear  Hawaii." 

*Wm.  J.  Bryan. 


149 


of 

(Tune:   "Marching  thro'  Georgia.") 

Lift  on  high  your  glasses,  boys,  and  clink 

A  merry  chime, 
Ring  them  with  the  spirit  of  the  boys  of 

Olden  time, 
When  gun  and  sabre  turned  the  rhyme — 

From  'sixty-one  to  five — 
The  grand  old  song  "For  the  Union." 

CHORUS. 

Hip,  hip!  Hip,  hip!  We're  boys  of  '61, 
Hurrah!  Hurrah!  for  victory  well  won, 
Old  Glory's  stars  undimmed  now  shine 

From  gulf  to  lake,  and  sea, 
All  keep  step  to  the  Union. 

'Boys"  they  called  us  in  the  field,  the  "Boys 

Who  wore  the  Blue," 
And  though  our  heads  are  silvered  now,  our 

Hearts  are  young  and  true 
As  when  "To  arms!"  the  bugle  blew — 

Calling  us  away — 
To  march  and  fight  for  the  Union. — CHO. 

True,  we're  getting  on  in  years,  but — 

Only  just  for  fun — 
We  boys  would  like  to  take  a  whack,  against 

The  Spanish  Don, 
150 


JBogs  ot  ' 


We'll  back  Old  Sammy— Blue  and  Gray, 

Every  mother's  son — 
To  put  Cuba's  star  in  the  Union. — CHO. 

Our  ranks  are  growing  thinner  boys, 

Every  passing  year, 
We'll  soon  be  mustered  out  below,  to 

Join  the  boys  up  there ! 
All  present  and  accounted  for, 

Comrades  there,  as  here, 
May  God  bless  the  grand  old  army. — CHO. 


151 


a 

(Dedicated  to  My  Life  Companion.) 

This  the  sadness  :  the  thought 
To  wake  some  day,  and  in  thy  face 
My  best  beloved,  to  mark  the  trace 

Of  lines  as  yet  unknown  ; 
Across  the  smoothness  of  thy  brow — 
Now  white  and  pure  as  driven  snow — 

Behold  a  furrow  age  has  sown  ; 
As  pressed  thy  hand  in  mine,  to  feel 
Another  than  the  wonted  touch,  the  thrill 
Is  born  of  passing  time.     This  the  sadness. 

This  the  gladness.     The  thought, 
Tho'  unto  Him  alone  the  volume  of  thy  age, 
To  me  is  given  to  adorn  each  page 

With  added  brightness  ; 
Into  thy  daily  life  a  memory  infuse 
Of  loving  care  bestowed — lest  night  refuse 

Its  recompense  of  sweet  repose. 
So  at  the  last,  though  furrows  mar 
Thy  cheek,  thy  heart  no  impress  bear, 

Reflex  of  sorrow.     This  the  gladness. 


152 


Defenders. 

(Acrostic.) 

O  long  to  be  remembered  day. 
in  the  maze  of  recollection 
Doth  wonder  that  we  stand  apart? 

Dead  were  thy  faculties,  O  heart, 
Ere  we — the  children  of  such  sires, 
Forgetting  day,  and  deeds,  could  recreant  prove  to  such 

a  trust. 

Even  as  this  day's  bright  sun 
(Nearing  its  zenith  in  the  heavens) 

Doth  mark  a  course  well  run, 
Even  so  thy  pathway — hero,  sage, 
Reflecting  rays  of  patriotism,  and  truth, 
Serves  as  a  beacon  light,  to  us  of  later  day,  and  age. 


153 


tlbe  Medina  JSelL 


Ring  out,  ring  out,  O  Bell, 

In  tones  so  sweet  that  evermore 

With  her  I  love  the  memory  shall  dwell. 

For  thee,  O  love,  all  sorrows  flown, 

Like  stars  along  life's  pathway  strewn, 

May  each  concordant  note  foretell 

Of  joys  alone,  a  blessed  symphony. 

Ring  out,  ring  out,  O  Bell  ; 

And  may  the  silvery  tongue 

From  my  love's  brow  all  clouds  dispel. 

And  if  perchance  should  clouds  arise, 

Or  tear-drop  mar  the  sunlight  of  thine  eyes, 

Then  may  some  fairy  hand,  to  break  the  spell, 

Chime  out  the  melody. 


154 


Welcome  tbe  JBoss  in  Blue* 

NoTE  :  Written  on  the  occasion  of  the  Grand  Army  of 
the  Republic  National  Encampment  in  Baltimore,  when  Lee 
Camp,  of  Richmond,  Va.,  were  present  by  invitation. 

Welcome  the  brave,  the  loyal  and  true ; 
Welcome  the  "  Boys  who  wore  the  Blue ;" 
Welcome,  survivors  of  many  a  fight  ; 
Thrice  welcome  all  who  fought  for  the  right. 

In  the  days  now  long  and  happily  passed, 
On  the  side  of  the  Union  your  fortunes  ye  cast  ; 
With  no  thought  save  country  marched  to  the  field, 
Determined  to  die,  but  never  to  yield. 

In  many  a  valley,  on  many  a  plain 
Lie  the  bones  of  your  comrades — the  unfortunate  slain  ; 
They,  honored  in  death ;  ye,  honored  in  life, 
Equal  honor  to  all  who  fought  in  the  strife. 

Assembled  once  more  in  our  peace  loving  land, 
Our  hearts  beat  responsive,  hand  clasp' d  within  hand; 
Remembering,  o'er  all,  Him  to  whom  homage  is  due; 
Ordained  that  the  victory  should  rest  with  the  Blue. 

And  last,  but  not  least,  we  forget  not  the  foe, 
Whom  we  loved  in  our  hearts,  tho'  our  guns  laid  them 

low ; 

United  again  those  who  met  in  the  fray, 
Welcome  all,  all  welcome,  the  Blue  and  the  Gray. 

155 


Sweet  IDiolets. 

The  flower  thou  gav'st  to  me  is  dead ; 
Yet  does  the  memory  linger  still, 
Sweet  as  the  fragrance  which  it  shed 

When  from  thy  fair  hand — 
And  with  a  look  did  all  my  being  thrill — 
Thou  gav'st  it  me. 

Loving,  thy  gift  and  glance — like  fairy  wand — 
Unlocked  the  door  of  deep  despair 
And  bade  them  hence — the  fears  and  doubts 

Which  did  my  heart  possess, 
And  in  their  stead,  forever  sheltered  there, 
(Pity  me,  lyove,  if  mind  the  heart  deceived) 
Welcomed  I  peace,  joy,  happiness. 


156 


Even  TUnto  2>eatb. 

Con  amor  mio !  look  thou  in  mine  eyes 

And  tell  me — mirrored  there 

E'en  as  yon  moon  the  lake  inurned 

Reveals  a  radiance  bright — 
What  dost  thou  there  behold? 
I  would  that  thou  should'st  see,  ora  sempre, 
I,ove's  reflex,  and  in  thine  eyes,  upturned, 

Rejoicing  see  a  kindred  light. 
Close-pent,  I  would  thy  heart  in  mine  enfold — 
Enraptured  love  within  each  breast ; — 
Your  arms  about  me  close  entwined, 
In  death,  so  would  I  seek  eternal  rest. 


157 


©n  tbe  Battle  jfielfc, 

A  soldier,  'twas  his  to  hear,  and  then,  obey. 

Of  courage  high,  the  path  of  duty  plain, 
'Twas  his  to  fight ;  to  fail,  was  to  betray. 

And  here  he  lies ;  engrasped  his  hand 
The  standard  he  had  loved,  so  nobly  borne, 

While  comrades,  'round  him,  reverant  stand. 
Of  pain  his  face  no  impress  bears,  but  yet  a  smile 

As  if — when  came  Death's  messenger,  ere  while, 
Beyond  the  pale  of  strife,  the  battle  o'er, 

A  victor's  wreath  he  saw,  and  heard  a  voice 
Which  hailed  him  "  Conqueror." 


158 


Ma\>e  ffaitb! 

I  bid  you,  have  faith! 
From  the  cradle  to  the  grave  'twill  stand 

Thee,  mortal,  well  in  hand. 
Faith  in  thyself,  but  paramount,  of  God, 
Who  gav'st  thee  life,  and  doth  of  thee  demand 

A  full  return  of  thine  abode. 
God  plants  the  seed  ;  the  seed  of  human  life ; 
Like  the  sunshine  and  the  rain — to  flowers, 
Is  it  not  so  of  human  strife  ? 

Not  all  of  sunshine  is  our  need, 
Lest  we,  mayhap,  become  enervate ; 
But  each,  in  turn,  the  sun  and  rain, 

That  we  the  hardier  grow  ; — 
Such  be  our  fate. 


159 


X'  Envoi. 

Fugitives  are  they,  caught  and  bound ; 
If  in  the  reading  some  pleasure  thou  hast  found, 

Or  perchance,  suggestive  thought 
For  good,  not  ill,  then  is  my  work  well  wrought. 
An'  thou  wilt,  say  of  them  "They're  very  crude, 
But  honest,"  I  will  not  hold  thee  rude ; 

"Lack  erudition,  not  sentiment," 
Believe  me,  I'll  thank  you  for  the  compliment. 


160 


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